This is my first poem on this site and was made for the story Spawn of Vain, telling how she came to power, so many words and only one meaning.


The petals flew by, in the pink orchards they fly,

Way up with the sparrow, the light brown of the bird in the sky,

The wind did howl, the day became longer as the howling whistled,

On the ground was reds, pinks, and oranges, but the most pungent was the purple thistle,

The sky waned, the angels cried the solemn song,

Aboard in the darkest hour, and night shall be day, the sun will not rise,

The angels wept down their bloodied tears, the flood had come and drowned the saints,

Saint of Ardon they were, and thee shall be rewarded,

Those that were left, the sinners of our sorrow,

The struggle continued, the sky shattered in the midst a warrior rose,

Witch she was thought, beauty was her power,

Her power revealed in their sorrows, the Righteous wavered in her blinding fairness,

Her hair was as dark as the first night, her eyes shone of the nature of spring-a promise of green lands and return of all saints,

But her evil overcame her beautifulness, and Necromancer they shouted,

Necromantic Rogue, The Sinner, his eyes and hair was the night,

With stolen virginity she rose on her blackened throne, Sinner beside her,

Beauty and Sin became one, evil still conquering the Vain One's child,

She was the Queen of the Dead and dark conjuring,

So she was branded,

Spawn of Vain.