Every second of your life, another waits nearby, A fiend of living shadow,incorporeal as the sky. Waiting for a chance to strike, its form is cloaked from sight, To spring forth from the woodwork when the time is right. Your faith can not protect your soul, for the righteous die as well, Its names are many, but all the same, In legends that we tell. Its handiwork has many forms some horrid, some mundane. But its purpose is revealed by the presence of the slain. It has no pity, no remorse, no sorrow for its deeds, For that is how the thing lives on, and by your death it feeds. Live your life as best you can, and hope for another year, For when it strikes, your blood is chilled, and not because of fear.
Reason for writing:
I felt like adding a new twist to something that was common
in everyones life....
Birth sign: Not entered
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by DRP *Leo*.