Gothic God

I watched as the figure,
Draped in black,
Flashed past my reflection.
So stunned was I,
That I thought he was a hallucination.
Though this visit was short,
About six times three reflections;
His immortal frame is still held prisoner,
Through every glance I make in the mirror,
And every bitter thought.

His ghastly appearance would frightened most.
Some would followed him under curiosityís calling..
I chose to watch.
Enraptured by his gaunt features,
I embraced his scentless form.
So bitter and absent of odor.
I quivered with every demon it unleashed.

His cloak was made of black velvet,
Red satin,
And white lace,
So delicate and impure.
I knew his mission,
The eternal sleep.

Time to take the immortalís bliss,
So that I should once again be freed!
But it was a shattered thought,
Just the crashing sound the glass had made.
The shards should have taken me,
But not a drop of crimson was found.
For some reason I cannot remember,

Did I drink it?
Had he swept it away?
Perhaps it was his coarse cloak,
Shrouding me under itís black sea,
For which the shards never found me.

Of course, there is now many regrets.
Each day is now filled with empty thoughts;
Wishing I had followed my shadowed Master.
I still yearn to dance within his shadows;
Still wish I could devour him!
I wish I could lure him to me,
Fade under his cloak,
Then dance with his frail mass.

I knew his purpose of coming;
He was to take my absent hours,
For it was I who had beckoned him to do so.
He knew such hours were misspent,
And I was to lose the privilege.
Yet he must have been deceived by this calling.
My features must not have appeared ready to follow.

An age,
A day,
An angst hour,
Or a breathless second is what I think he is waiting for.
A more frail face at a more urgent hour!
It was ordered,
That only then shall I call upon him,
My true Master.
Only then shall he take hold of his mourning fate,
To reveal her flesh,
And escape from under the veil of shadows.