He walked through the misty fog,
as day gave way to night.
The hinges rattled on the graveyard gate,
The sign for the dead to be alive.
The howls of the un-forgiven,
were secreted within the wind.
No rest for the wicked,
No rest for those who had sinned.
The flesh hung off his creaky bones,
giving off an odious smell.
Disowned by Satan himself,
Turned away from the gates of Hell
Doomed to exist in torment,
until the end of time.
What fate awaits the living is unknown
until comes the time for them to die.
Copyright © Ken Duddle