He Hath Come
.
Vines upon the tombstones weave their fingered laced design
Smothering the dates of those beneath
Gravesites feed the thicket with its thorns of razor twine
Wrapped mosaic patterns like a wreath
Here of heavy mist a ghostly figure sets his sight
Silhouetted by a lonely glare
Even still the moon doth hide enveloped by the night
Every movement he is now aware
Standing midst the shadows with his sickle at his side
Looking to the noose, this crooked tree
Hanging from a branch a man of darker color died
Only cause he hoped for more to be
Blood collects the lawn down there below the evil deed
Staining every dripping blade of grass
Hate, he knows full well hath come along to plant the seed
Time is not enough for it to pass
Following the tracks the earthly mud has held complete
Looking to the distance through the rain
Taking on the pathway painted lone in lost defeat
Pushing far aside the constant pain
He is the collector of the souls this place hath born
Not of those who gasped their final breath
For the one who tied the knot so tightly that was worn
Equaling the score, death for a death
Pausing midst the granite carved of names long since deceased
Sharpening his blade of serpent’s tongue
Staring towards the passages these lives atoned released
Dressed in caustic dreams of those so young
Flee with every ounce of strength your body can create
Slowly he shall walk along this way
Nowhere shall be far enough, for now it is too late
He hath come to take your life away
Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2016
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