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.