ȦtmȧLuminȧ

I know who you are,
Beneath the veil, behind the mask,
A shadow wrapped in borrowed charm,
A voice that whispers, begs, and asks.

You kneel, your hands clasped tight,
Seeking mercy from my weary gaze,
Thinking I’d stay blind to the night,
To the games you’ve played, to your endless maze.

But I have walked these paths before,
Seen the cunning and the lies,
The hollow words that beg for more,
And the truth hidden in your eyes.

This is no time for soft reprieves,
No shelter for the sly and cunning.
The winds are sharp; the forest grieves,
And the hunters’ steps are coming.

It’s the season of the axe, my dear,
When roots are torn and rot is burned.
No mercy dwells, no refuge here,
For lessons hard and just are earned.

So do not linger, do not plead,
For justice does not barter,
Your actions sowed the bitter seed,
And the axe falls ever sharper.

You thought my sight was dimmed, unseen,
But now the blade is bare and gleaming.
No promises, no in-betweens,
Just truths unveiled, unyielding, streaming.

It’s the season of the axe, my dear,
And the time has come to sever,
What cannot stand, what grows unclear,
Shall be silenced now forever.