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An End
April 18, 2010
Moving fast with lightening strike
Chilling winds arise with hate
Blood with salt and fears alike
As if the piecing danger was your fate
Striking quick with flicking tongue
The closing in of chilling mist
A haunting chant slowly sung,
Spiraling thoughts of chances missed
The black of night is coming close
Death veil approaching fast
Satan’s cry the Holy Ghost
The flashing by of day long past
And here in this oaken bed I lie
My life is gone and so I die.
© Brian M., Fishers, IN
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