In the veil where the shadows entwine,
A voice murmurs, ancient and divine.
With whispers so light, in the dead of night,
It crafts fate's intricate design.
From the heart of the ancient, deep wood,
Where the elder trees have long stood,
It murmurs low, where the cold winds blow,
In a realm where all fears are understood.
Beneath the moon’s ethereal light,
It communes with the stars in the night,
“Guide my path, stave off wrath,
For dawn shall disperse this twilight.”
A melody like wind through the leaves,
It sings of hope and hidden grieves.
Each note a thread, a promise spread,
In the minds of those it deceives.
Eyes unseen, dark as the void,
Reflecting dreams it has destroyed.
A fleeting glance, a silent trance,
In the web of fate employed.
It dances ‘midst ruins forgotten,
Where heroes once brave lay begotten.
It weaves through the night, out of sight,
Tales of valor turned rotten.
For eons, it’s watched realms decay,
As empires and kingdoms fade away.
A silent shade, in the glade,
Observing the night’s dark ballet.
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Its laughter, a haunting song,
Echoes where shadows belong.
It chills the bone, makes hearts moan,
A dirge both eerie and strong.
The Hidden One, feared by all,
From grand castles to humble hall.
It sows discord, wields no sword,
Yet watches proud mortals fall.
Yet behind its shadowy guise,
Lies a secret none realize.
A heart once bright, lost to night,
Shrouded in mystery and lies.
Long ago, in time’s hidden mist,
It was not always like this.
A spirit fair, free from care,
Till dreams were cruelly dismissed.
Betrayed by those once held dear,
A heart hardened, cold as fear.
In that pain, it found a reign,
A power in darkness clear.
It seeks not just dominion or gold,
But the return of what was once bold.
A love lost, at great cost,
Its story in silence is told.
In the depths of its shadowy domain,
It nurses an unending pain.
A flicker of light, hidden from sight,
A hope to break free from its chain.
So it weaves its spells in the night,
And dreams of the dawn’s first light.
For even the dark harbors a spark,
Yearning for the end of its plight.
As dawn’s first light begins to rise,
It hides from the world’s prying eyes.
For in the day, it cannot stay,
Its power wanes under the skies.
Yet its influence lingers still,
In shadowed glen and silent hill.
Its touch unseen, in the green,
Of the forest’s whispering thrill.
This tale, a limeric spun,
Of battles lost and won.
Of hope and despair, a story rare,
Of shadows fearing the sun.
So heed this whisper, soft and low,
Of the Hidden One, friend and foe.
For in its plight, lies a light,
A secret only the brave may know.
In the end, it remains unseen,
A phantom, a shadow, a dream.