The Sovereign of the Shade
The King of Terrors comes not with
a sudden roar, but as a quiet shadow falling across the final door.
He sits upon no mortal throne,
A quiet shadow, vast and lone,
On silent, unreturning wing.
The pulse grows slow, the candle
dims,
The noisy world begins to fade,
A quiet stilled through all the limbs,
A quiet peace within the shade.
They call him dread, they call him
night,
The final end of earthly tears,
Yet past the gloom there waits the
light,
Beyond the king of all our fears.
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