The Beast

The Beast

The icy winds that howl and scream
drift in and out of every dream.
Then all that flees in silent flight
will share the darkest dens of night.
They taste the crimson sticky flood
from rivers flowing thick with blood.

While in the distance death and pain
will turn into the blackest rain.
Now all of man awaits the word
but man is mad and so absurd.

Then as the winter storms increase
the cruelest winds will never cease;
for we can't see the final feast
within the belly of the beast.

© Copyright 2008 T.L.Finch (UN: t.l.finch at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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