The Dark Poets

The battle for the human soul has begun
Which side will you fight for?
When the shadows void the light of the sun,
Which side will you write for?

Oh, Dark Poets, full of misery and fog,
When you pick up your pen,
Your words are like venomous smog—
You suffocate yourself, then give them to men.

What is art? What is beauty? What is truth?
Is it the decay of society,
The untimely end of our youth?
Is it the tragic loss of purity?

Lament the fall of the world and cry over brokenness.
Will even your blackest tears save mankind?
Dark Poets, rise, and become artists fallen men can bless.
There is still time with sacred mystery to spellbind.

We can inspire these weary nations,
We can show paths of darkness and light,
We can still marvel at creation,
For there is Heaven even in the night.

Remember, this battle is the fight to live:
Will you destroy it for all in self-righteous invectives?
We have that power, being Dark, loving Death above Life;
But how long can we love bleeding; love a knife?
Can Death love us? Can pain love us?
Death is hopeless vanity; our loves will rust

And be no more.

When this battle calls you to fight,
Remember who you write for.
Dark Poets, remember well when you return to night:
This is war.