Within a Wicked Wind
I am the gray, damp, muted mist which slides
Between the large, carved, gothic marker stones;
Alone they sit like marbled gargoyle brides
Above the dried-white, brittle, lambent bones.
Now dead and silenced for iniquities
I glide inside the dance of death each night
As ancient graves belch foul obscenities
That rage against the blaze of righteous light.
I am but smoke within a wicked wind
But stand as witness to this brutal truth:
In darkness death ends not the pain of sin
For evil preys upon red blood of youth.
And once possessed these young ones will be made
A matrix of malevolence 'till death;
Though even then no evil bows to fade,
Benignly, in the rattled rails of breath.
Do not ignore prophetic words I speak;
For evil thrives when human will is weak.
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