HE TRAVEL'S ALONE IN DARKENED MIST.
THE STENCH OF DEATH CLENCHED WITHIN HIS FIST.
TEN THOUSAND YEAR'S HE'S WALKED THIS WAY.
NEVER THIRSTING ONCE FOR THE LIGHT OF DAY.
A VESSEL OF DEATH, PAIN AN GRIEF.
THE MESSANGER COME'S WITH SHARPEND TEETH.
SKIN SO PALE, AND DEATHLY COLD.
WANTING FOR NOTHING, NOT FAME NOR GOLD.
HE DESCEND'S UPON HIS LIVING FEAST.
FUELED WITH THE POWER OF THE UHOLY BEAST.
EVER SO PERFECT LIKE A SURGEON'S KNIFE.
FEELING NOTHING AS HE END'S THEIR PITIFUL LIFE.
ARCHING HIS HEAD, TOWARD'S THE NIGHT SKY.
SHOUTING HIS PRAISE AS HIS VICTIM DIE'S.
THEN MOVING ON, AS IF HE HAD NEVER BEEN.
WALKING ALONE...AND NEVER SEEN.
1999 C. VAN BENTHEM
