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The half moon hangs in velvet night

A pale light surrounds

casting dim pall far below

as its meager light abounds…







In the streets a figure walks

silent footsteps tread

Upon cobbled streets under gas-lit glow

as innocents dream abed



Tattered rags of black, and pale skin

hide an immortal soul

Blood red eyes and furrowed brow

hide memories both new and old



On the scent, not far to go

The smell, strong and ill

It comes to take another dying soul

no sense in fighting; no free will



Such is existence for what it is

Not man or demon; not living

Centuries paid in blood and tears

for fundamental sinning



~~~~~



A quiet room, sparsely drawn

A bed with a crumpled form

A wheezing rasp of breath is all

that from the silence is rhythm torn



A shadow is cast in palest light

a hand passes o’er brow

and in a sparse and musty room

only silence lives there now



~~~~~



A figure walks on cobbled streets

and stops to stare at the moon in velvet

and in its mind a voice rings out

As eyes scan the skies for that which dealt it



“You have suffered and you have cried

And I have let it go so long

But the time is now for you to return

to that from which you were born”



A ragged form in tattered rags

drops slowly to its knees:

“Father, long have I paid for my sin

take from me this misery”



A golden light that only it can see

bathes and blinds its blood red eyes

The voice returns inside its mind

overpowering its immortal cries



“Return to me, angel of mine

for your sin, you have paid the cost

You will be the kindness and mercy

which gently returns the lost”



~~~~~



Upon cobbled streets, under gas-lit lamps

As the half moon hangs on high

Empty, tattered, blackened rags

float gently towards a velvet sky