Black-Winged Angel
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Deep within the mongrel curs,
Something rises, something stirs.
Awakening its immortal mind,
Starting to seek the chaos to find.
Now the memories once more stand out,
Twisting sanity round and about.
Silver outlines feathers on the midnight wings,
Appearances that of which many bard sings.
The staff in hand with Dragon's form,
Allowing him peace in even the fiercest storm.
His sword at his side shall always be,
Unless it wishes the blood of an enemy.
The clothing hanging upon his frame,
Is powerful in itself, all the same.
And so the Angel is once again seen,
Named Morgon as it has always been.
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© Shattered Silver, 2008-10-17
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