Terrible but Great

When The Void unfolds and lays out all those who have passed,
Endless waves of formless fathers float upon the Nightfield.
From those silent waters, figures that have fallen slowly rise,
Fathers behind sons, and sons behind their own.
There are those who choose to stay silent in cooperation.
And there are those terrible tyrants who surface in competition.
Bellowing over another in hopes for Chaos’ vital attention.
Voices unknowing that their purpose was met,
Their own power not entirely silenced yet.
Desperately fighting their own Father for their Mother,
Deluded of their conquest and hungry for another,
Mortal men a calibre of Terrible but Great,
Finally attain their Mother’s heartless grin.
With her Nightly Hand she gives them one last embrace,
Taking away that illusion of gain to fold The Void all the same.
In Terrible but Great silence.