[Lyrik] The masked man’s prayer
Upon the midnight’s barren shore,
He raised his mask and begged once more,
A wish to one who burns the skies,
A fleeting fire before it dies—
Yet none would grant the lore,
Unspoken evermore.
He asked no wealth, nor tender breath,
But Truth that dwells in halls of Death,
That secret voice, in shadows bound,
Where silence reigns, yet thoughts resound—
A word the world abhors,
Unspoken evermore.
The comet flared, the heavens stirred,
Yet gave no sound, nor whispered word;
The void returned his solemn cry,
A prayer condemned to drift and die—
An oath behind Death’s door,
Unspoken evermore.
Through forests black and rivers cold,
He wandered on, both young and old;
For time dissolved around his frame,
Yet still he sought that nameless flame,
A truth none dare explore,
Unspoken evermore.
The mask he bore, of iron grim,
Was bound with fate, not made by him;
It hid the wound no eye could see,
A wound of dark eternity—
A scar that bled before,
Unspoken evermore.
And children dreamt of him at night,
A figure veiled, devoid of light;
They woke to whispers in the gloom,
As though a voice had crossed the tomb—
A voice they could ignore,
Unspoken evermore.
The church bells tolled, the candles wept,
While in their graves the ancients slept;
Yet still his steps disturbed the ground,
Where silence had no final bound—
Where truth was but folklore,
Unspoken evermore.
And when at last the stars grew dim,
The final word returned to him:
A secret scrawled in shadow’s ink,
Too deep for any soul to think—
A curse the gods outpour,
Unspoken evermore.
So stands he still on twilight’s stage,
A pilgrim lost from age to age;
The mask unbroken, bound with dread,
His prayer a hymn among the dead—
A cry none can restore,
Unspoken evermore.