.

In the dark it sits and waits. Wallowing in its blinding hate. It wants all and nothing at the same time. It has waited forever for the time. It wants to reach forth and claim its prize. Locked safely away by those who were wise. It looks such a wonderful, useful thing. Inside pure evil waits to take wing. Those who would claim such awful power find in its presence even they must cower. The pressure of its dominance bared leaves those with good hearts trembling, scared. Be forever wary of its scathing might for few can withstand the slightest sight. The glitter of blinding white is not always reflecting light. Tread not in the shadow there, or be forever lost within its snare.

Hiding in that darkened place it starts a quite revolting race. Its time is nearing. Its coming for you. Whatever is it you shall do? You think that you know the answer? It spreads itself as like a cancer. A most grotesque and curious dancer. It wishes to wind within its web any who would dare to tread. The dark is what it calls home. It needs no one, sitting there so very alone. It leaves all quivering and prone. Its one weakness none will ever share. Sharp and wicked inside its lair. Soon to be a most significant player. It toys with fates strings for amusements sake. Leaving naught but destruction in its wake. What lies at stake now is the world laid bare. What is justice? What is fair? Does it have even a single care?

I warn you now to run, to hide. You don't want to know what is held inside. It will not spare you nor I. It can only make things die. It will do no good to scream nor cry. It exists because of one single devastating lie. Never may we know the reason why. We can but shake our heads and sigh. Oh me oh my, there is no way to now deny that things are nearly so cut and dry. It has such power it cannot use, enough to finally make it blow a fuse. Seething anger will soon burst out to not one single warning shout. All who knew lay dead and rotten. All warning of its power long forgotten. What is it, this horrid thing? What horrors with it does it bring? Few know the pain of its terrible sting.

It shrieks and screams and pries at the prison walls. Unheard caterwauling does not echo down the halls. In its silent despair there is nothing which it can share. Where is it? Where? None can hear it. None know it is there. The walls are breaking, wearing thin. The slightest misstep might well let it in. Does it wait for some unwary traveler? Perhaps some unknowing dabbler. To free it from that final lock. The clock is ticking, time is sticking. Have you ever seen the world slow down? It sees only crimson brown. Life does not like what is about to be shown, something like this should never have grown. To be so strong and play at will with whatever gives to it a silent thrill. Unnoticed a terrible chill, like ice it runs through the land as forth it reaches still.

It contrives to win a freedom that must never begin. It waits to cackle and grin, to what is it akin? Where it sits so far none can hear. Does it even want anything near? Its patience now is nearing an end. To its will the world must soon bend. To give heed to this call will mean to lose it all. Wither then even mighty armies fall. What is coming? Better start running. Who will we turn to? All we knew and all that is. How can things be so terribly amiss? Waiting in its dark abyss. How could we have been oh so remiss? To forget its there, even in our darkest nightmare. Will we stand in awe as it devours us whole? Can none stand forth and fulfill the role? A hero to bring us lights reprieve, and give to all the greatest relief.

What at this moment makes it struggle to lift its head, to turn life to dust and leave all to rust? Is there no one in whom we may trust? To disperse the enclosing gloom, and let flowers spring forth to once again bloom. It swept away yesteryear, laying them low and filling all with fear. Hope is such a simple fleeting thing, it can come and go as easily as when voices set forth to sing. The land in countless decades has not felt the joy of spring, when forth used to come every living thing. It sits there biding in its plight, waiting for the time to be just right. Its ploys are falling into place, leaving not a single trace. No way to see it. No way to hear it. No way to come anywhere near. To it the world stopped long ago. For their efforts it set all aglow.

Is there a reason it lies in wait? What exactly is its stake? It does not care what we may do. It may not even care if we were to win through. It slowly summons all its strength. The length and breadth of all the land, is what it covets as it starts to stand. Its burdens greater than any other. It wants only us to smother. Its singular task is murder through and through. More dangerous than anything we have ever knew. The threads are coming undone upon the loom. It will be upon us quite soon. The roots it casts are vast and deep. Don't let it take you in your sleep. Those who knew it were left to weep. It is coming, bar your door, or maybe it will come up through the floor? To make a mockery forevermore, and maybe reach a distant shore. Should it win all daylight ends, the sun will never shine again.

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Something wicked this way comes.