Prayer for thee Oseddi


  • Desmotti
  • The wraith is but sadness in mortal form. It haunts to hunt, and hunts to feed. It cannot feed on any emotion. This is its pain. for emotion is not segregated it is fealt, and to feel is warmth.

Prayer for thee Oseddi

  O hear me my son.  This wretched worm screams, and cries for thee not to abandon thy father; as I have abandoned thee. With unsound mind, I wander pitch, the lonely darkness.  Still I cannot move freely nor far from he that keeps me.  The chimes I fear have driven my sanity to the furthest reaches.  I am still here, I keep reason close enough, though it be without much hope.  I do know you, my son, and  for you  I remain somewhat alive, and unbroken.

 The witches of the wind, hideous creatures of this twilight waste, scream their approval, his approval.  for I am a treasure, and a new slave of this great empty; truly the bidding of hells King has been done.  I am waiting son, for you can save me from eternities madness; her fires of refinement justified by the laws of the universe, and her eternal balance.  I am evil, I know this well but I love also.  How can this be, but that I am somewhat good, for you Sunshade are beautiful, and full of light and have come from me.  You are of me, sweet son.

 In this prison I am bound by chains unbearable; they burn hot, as hells fire burneth,  scorching, increasing pain that sends me gnashing into maniacal frenzies of madness. Comfort does not exist in this... land of doom, where the twilight child dwelleth; for I am like child here frantic for comfort...and so alone.  I dwell here...alone...  Must it be that one such as I must spin in darkness forever?  Where is the familiar sun?  Where is the warmth that givith life to the living? The very idea shrinketh from me, but not enough to forget, and remember I must for that is the curse of the damned.  For I must be damned to be here...  How long have I been here?  How does one measure existence without the seasons of Earth?  Should I even care?  Time eludes me for there is no moons pattern to look upon...there is no wall to etch a remembrance. 

 Where is the morning?  Where are the sweet morning Ketchuck piping their song to wake the child from sleep?  So Far away, so distant, this memory of light itself. The remnant glow of dead stars are the last rays that reacheth these shadows casting the light equivalent of a new moon on my surroundings.  I am now the shadow of life for I am not dead, and have not passed, for creation does not cease; and so I wait for thee son, the wastes are cold, and dark. They are darkened to match the souls of the lost and I am lost. I knoweth this for I am but a shadow.  I see the path before this orb of pitch clearly, its movement is slow and sour to the mind.  to reason why would take an eternity to comprehend, though I feel here is still part of the wheel none the less; but not the wheel that adds to the portrait of the Universe.  We are the shadows that make the rest bright and recognized, we are overlooked but needed. We are the damned,  eternal is our suffering and we understand why.  I choke on tears of vapor scorched by the flames of sorrow for it  is permitted this knowledge of what we are so that we the slaves of mortalities darkness  have understanding of Truths  punishment. Justice for the innocent.  Still  must I spin with these haunts here, forever?

 I know what I have done, forgive me son for I am a monster.  End my torment I cannot abide, and  I fear madness.  My tears are vapor and cannot exist here.  Son I await thy arrival, and will dream weave to reach thee in the now; for you share the Calibri with me.  Hell cannot sever us I have found. Oh to find a corner of peace in this madness; it is thee, and I have thee always with me. I am the undead...I wander always searching for the Monster King...the Shadow King....I am not dead I fear for death would be a comfort.

Son I wait patiently, I shall teach thee bright from darkness, that thee will know assuredly of your place when the gates of death gape after thee.  I shall teach thee of me, so that thee might recognize me, for thy Father is twisted and to thine eye a monster. 

Thou art pure, and must stay so at least in intention, for this is no place for mortal men, no matter how cursed, or wretched.  This is no place for the lowest of mortal creatures.  No matter how cruel and deserving. I search for the Shadow King always to end the torment of many...for I am Desmotti and I am not dead but live face the darkness.

- Desmotti, Thes Mulandash - 

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Rygar commented on Prayer for thee Oseddi


Im pimping your poetry........................... :-)



haha...Thanks brother...hope your good man...!

DeepEclipse commented on Prayer for thee Oseddi


Man this poem/story pours the mind into the dimension of your torment. Every line exposes it, speaks it, feels it, dreads it, and carries it. [I am evil. I know this well but I love also] I relate to this all too much. It is a poem that holds a........dark beauty.........a morbid hope............a bright cry........between the night and day it wreathes.......fighting to form a place for itself that cannot exist. For the two sides of the coin will always be....two sides. I became totally lost in this.....

Rygar commented on Prayer for thee Oseddi


amazing, and as with most answers, this brings more questions, but i think i am formulating a piece of the puzzle that is Desmotti. i look forward to traveling with you some more.

Poetry is what gets lost in translation.

Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

Desmotti’s Poems (25)