In shadowed realms where whispers dwell,
A chimeric sovereign rules the night;
With horns that scrape the stars themselves,
And eyes that gleam with feral light.

His visage, etched in ancient runes,
A tapestry of battles fought;
Each scar a legend, every line,
A verse with arcane wisdom fraught.

This monarch of the dusk’s domain,
With fangs that glint like sharpened blades,
His roar a symphony of fear,
Where silence in the darkness fades.

Beneath a crown of twisted bone,
His thoughts remain a mystery;
For in his gaze, there lies a depth,
That speaks of untold history.

His skin, a canvas of the arts
Of times when gods and monsters reigned;
Each fiery mark, a story bold,
In blood and shadow, deeply stained.

He stands, a sentinel of lore,
A bridge to worlds we’ve never seen;
Where myth and truth together dance,
In realms where he has always been.

Let none mistake his fierce mien,
For cruelty or mindless wrath;
For he is nature’s primal force,
The guardian of the untrod path.

So pay your homage, whisper low,
Respect the beast and all he guards;
For he is keeper of the night,
And in his kingdom, he is Tsar.

Though many fear the dark’s embrace,
And tremble at the mere thought;
Remember well this sovereign grim,
Whose peace, with ancient wisdom, bought.

For in the end, we all are kin,
To creatures of the night so sovereign;
Our inner selves, at times concealed,
Are not so far from what is seen.