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Rated: E · Poetry · Dark · #2188009
Poem about the Reaper coming for his next victim.

In the shadows of the night,
Under a pale moonlight.
I travel the halls looking for her,
The rats and mice stir.

I see her there,
At me she doth stare.
All dressed in red,
Long blonde hair adorns her head.

I float over,
As she grows colder.
My bony hand,
The touch she cannot stand.

The screams can’t come,
She knows she must run.
Her feet won’t move,
Herself she can’t approve.

Of my embrace,
A smile upon my face.
My bony hand around her waist,
Her youth I must taste.

The sweetness of her youth,
Her virtue is the proof.
Sweet strength and energy,
I inhale to my memory.

Her struggle was strong,
To me she belongs.
But then she knew,
Her moments were few.

Her strength flowed into me,
Giving me such new energy.
Sucking out her life,
To make her my bony wife.

32 Lines
© Copyright 2019 J.L. O'Dell (soldierwolf at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2188009