The Impaler

The Wallachian fields of yore, had such a prestigious decor. Hanging corpses with his skill, thirsting only for bloody thrill. Crucifixes near a soulless heart, fields of bodies displaying art. Scorching the earth each crusade, Islam cursing his torturous blade. Cordial visits of clueless guests, sharing ideas with the noblesse. Later slicing their fattened sacks, sharpening his broad stone axe. There were nights never spoken, gnashing teeth and bones broken. Feeding more on their inscrutability, severing limbs of purest nobility. Rape and murder never repelled, absolute grandeur from titles held. Blackness ruled his ruthless mind, the reaper unleashed on mankind. Tyrant of destruction resting nigh, earth consuming the hellish sky. Blissful irony that never failed, Vlad the impaler forever impaled.