Crescent Silver
Cloaked figure approached - voice of death it spoke;
“Your moments come,” manifests scythe from smoke.
Each step bereft your pulsates, dirge of a malodorous,
bittersweet symphonies requiem of the hollow - mahogany tree;
stutter/sputter/cough sanguinary pearls hell plead,
crescent sickle moonshines through the clouds this nightmare,
ray of moonlight beam ebbs your breast beat, snuff a candlelight - *goodnight*
Copyright © Beatrix Macabre | Year Posted 2024
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