Ill fated dusk;
When the moon shines above
And the glittery stars twinkled to life,
The dark and its minions rode.
And with tendrils of dread
Planted in each men he passed,
He claimed for himself the night,
Unopposed, but hated still.
The dark rode on,
In gentle haste and
Encloaked in nightmares,
To the whispering winds
Of troubled souls.
The night of doom
Had just begun
As demons visited men
In amorous guise.
The wailing child’s voice
Was lost to the wind
As her mother, deaf,
And with a second mouth,
Just below her jaw,
Stared ahead with eyes that see no more.
Battles started
With a gleeful sight
Of which the dark lusts
As blood were spilled;
Brother’s and kinsmen alike.
The darkness bears no man, any grudge
Nor does he ahbor evil thoughts of them
He was set loose by fearful minds,
Grimly dreaming of endless shadows.
