Dark Ritual
Around, all around,
the dark memories gather.
My dread grows
as the headsman's axe
falls against my neck.
It severs me,
and darkly my blood drips
to the cold,
uncaring tombstones.
In unholy terror
I flail madly
while the Reaper
laughs cruelly.
Now alone, my blood falls
upon uncaring eyes
This is your love.
Copyright © Therese Schmidt | Year Posted 2012
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