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Unrest Eternal
The sky grows dark
The gate opens wide
Time to prepare
For the coming tide
Shadows dart forth
Red eyes that glow
Arm yourselves
On comes the flow
One comes forth
Scythe in hand
Through the gate
And onto this land
His cloak flows free
In the now cold wind
Skeletal fist
For all to see
Beautifully eerie, or is it eerily beautiful? Whatever designation applies, the poem works . . . and works well!
Starward