GAllATIN REVIEW

I prepared those three works for gallatin review. Although I didn’t get those works collected but I still wanna share those moods.

Whispers of Valor

In the vale where the night winds wail,  

Fell a silence that dressed the dale,  

As the moon wept red, the heavens bled,  

And the earth beneath was a slaughterous bed.  

Steel did clash and the brave did dash,  

On the field where the brave met death’s rash,  

Bones were shattered, flesh was torn,  

Under the sky where the battle was born.  

The raven’s cry over corpses flew,  

Feasting on the dusk’s bloody dew,  

Hearts once valiant, now stilled and cold,  

Lay amongst the marred soil, uncontrolled.  

Rivers crimson with warriors’ pride,  

Flowing from wounds deep and wide,  

In the brutal dance, the relentless prance,  

Where lives were lost in the dire expanse.  

No glory found in the brutal fray,  

Only the nightfall's mournful bray,  

Echoing pain, the sole refrain,  

On the field where blood falls like rain.

Each drop a tale of dreams unmet,  

In the savage silence, suns have set,  

For the brutal truth in the end is told,  

In the bloodied soil, dark and cold.

The Abyss of My Season

In the waning light of Autumn's sigh,  

Where shadows dance and the cold winds cry,  

I wander through the twilight, lost,  

In a world of frost, at such a cost.

Beneath the boughs of weeping trees,  

Whispered secrets ride the breeze,  

Echoes of a time that's flown,  

In the heart of winter, stark and lone.

The moon, a ghostly specter, peers,  

Through the cloak of night, the end nears,  

As stars like frozen tears do gleam,  

In the dark abyss, a silent scream.

Spring's rebirth, a distant dream,  

Underneath the world's harsh regime,  

Hope lies buried, under snow's shroud,  

In the quiet, both fierce and proud.

The sun's rays, a memory faint,  

In this realm, where joy is quaint,  

Each petal, leaf, a story untold,  

In the grasp of seasons, bold and cold.

As the cycle turns, relentless, raw,  

In the grasp of nature's law,  

Each moment, a brushstroke of pain,  

In the tapestry of life's refrain.

Here, in the depths of the season's hell,  

Where dreams wither, and sorrows swell,  

I find beauty, stark and true,  

In the cycle of the old and new.

The dance of time, both cruel and fair,  

In the abyss, I find my stare,  

For in the heart of nature's maw,  

Lies the truth, raw and raw.

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Phantasmagic Corpse

In the labyrinth of endless night,  

Where shadows twist in ghastly plight,  

I walk alone, through corridors  

Of broken dreams and phantom wars.

The air is thick with unspoken fears,  

Echoing the cries of forgotten years,  

A gallery of grotesque, twisted faces,  

Lost in this void of desolate spaces.

The moon, a pale, uncaring eye,  

Gazes down from a starless sky,  

Its light, a sickly, pallid glow,  

Illuminates the world below.

Here, the flowers bloom in hues of decay,  

Their fragrance a foul, morbid bouquet,  

Petals like flesh, wilted and torn,  

In this garden where despair is born.

The river flows with a silent moan,  

Through a land of bone and stone,  

Its waters black like the depths of sin,  

Reflecting the chaos that dwells within.

In this realm where time has ceased,  

Beauty and horror have interlaced,  

A tapestry woven from the darkest thread,  

In the kingdom of the living dead.

The whisper of madness, soft and low,  

Speaks of secrets none should know,  

In this world of nightmarish fantasy,  

Where the soul is bound, yet eerily free.

Here, in the shadow of the absurd,  

Where the lines of reality are blurred,  

I find a truth, twisted and strange,  

In the heart of the dark, beyond change.