Copyright © Priya Florence Shah
In the shadowed vale where darkness creeps,
Beneath the moon that seldom sleeps,
A coven stirs with wicked might,
Their chants corrupt the heart of night.
Their words of malice twist the air,
A venomous web, a devil’s snare.
The earth recoils, the heavens wail,
Yet unseen forces shall prevail.
For from the stars, a truth descends,
A blade of light the cosmos sends.
The Sword of Truth, sharp, unrelenting,
Cuts through lies, its edge unbending.
Beside it blooms a radiant flame,
The Rose of Clarity, by name.
Its petals pure, a beacon’s glow,
Illuminates all things below.
The sword strikes first, its judgment keen,
Rending shadows, unseen, obscene.
Each strike unveils the witches’ lies,
Their screams echo in blood-red skies.
The rose then blooms in fiery grace,
Its fragrance burns, no evil escapes.
Petals fall like celestial tears,
Cleansing sins of countless years.
The coven writhes, their power undone,
By sacred light and a rising sun.
Their shrieks dissolve in ash and dust,
Crushed beneath divine disgust.
The Sword and Rose, their duty clear,
Restore the balance, quell the fear.
The vale now breathes in peace restored,
Evil silenced by heaven’s accord.
But the ending sears, a price to claim,
For truth and clarity are never tame.
The earth is scorched, the winds lament,
A heavy cost for what was spent.
For justice pure may devastate,
And mercy finds no room for hate.
The Sword and Rose, their wrath unbound,
Leave a silence profound, profound.
