The Forsaken

His smile be but a crooked lie, All truth and beauty evade his reach, The childlike purity hath left his eyes, He hides from them, a cowardice leech. He hath feasted upon the mortal soul, His bloodied hands forever drenched, Guilt leads him now, to feed upon filth, His hunger and thirst nevermore to be quenched. Within his ageless porcelain shell, An old accursed fiend doth weep, For he stole the breath of innocence, Their restless ghosts now steal his sleep. The pleasant warmth of the sunlit morn, Hath shunned him all too soon, Thus, the only light that dares to greet him, ‘Tis the scornful smile of the Moon. Not even God’s angels waste their tears, For hell is grasping at his feet, He would readily welcome the Reaper’s scythe, But Death cannot chill what does not beat. And should he accept the gift of love, By his undying kiss, they shall suffer his fate, To sacrifice all sanity and mortality, For an eternal life of sadness and hate. This be his infinite penance, A penalty he is forced to pay, To live alone amongst God’s creatures, As the Forsaken, day by day.