A little twist of fate brought me here to die quickly
Some might say
That my thirst for knowledge led the strangers toward my weakness

Enemies abound and crowd my space
Until no one but myself can stop the noise
And yet the room still fades

Am I to stay nostalgic?
Ideas from past opportunities resurface
And again I travel the night
I see faces hungry for the surface
The underworld is suffering for my delight

You are the monster that I created from their nightmares
You are the son with my face
You have became my own Minotaur
Shall I bury you alive?

In the crowded room filled with the presence of death
I speak to no one
Though all wait for words of comfort
My murders
My son
I am no one

Fight till I am gone
See my body rot and understand that I did this for you
Are you strong enough to survive without my power
Will you become king?
Let not my death be in vain

They are my murders
You are my son
Take my blood and live
If you do this all will be ready
And I will have my peace

A/N: Some have commented and said that a few of my poems are detached and I fear that reading my latest work will do nothing to disprove their claim. I like the way I write. For the most part, everything is left for you to interprete. I respect all opinions and reviews. Flamers will be mocked!

Also, if you have som time, please check out my short story 5 minutes or my poem Voodoo Queen. They are quite different from any of my previous work and I would welcome your opinions on them.