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In the Mists of Night
October 25, 2010
Through the mists of the night,
I see thee.
Though you look of mortal blood,
I am not decieved.
Your pale skin glows white,
A beacon of death.
Your heart is still-absolete,
Lungs draw not a breath.
You are a child of darkness,
A true servant of evil,
Your soul is nothing, a blackhole,
Emotions not yours to feel.
I try to run away,
But you begin to chase.
I guess immortality is your advantage
In this deadly race.
You catch me after seconds,
Which to me is quite too soon.
You stare at me with dark, black eyes
As I await oncoming doom.
© Steve S., Marblehead, MA
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