Dark mind.
Black heart.
Open veins.
Despair, disdain.
Enjoy the rain.
Everyday feels the same.
Same brain.
Same frame.
Same pain.
Dark skies.
Deep waves.
Oh the fright.
Bloody knife.
Crows take flight.
Memories on repeat.
Every night.
Graveyard blues.
An eerie tune.
A masked figure stands beneath the blood red moon.
Yet upon this night.
A white dove sits upon a reaper's scythe.
The masked one kneels.
The blade held low.
The dove's soft coo.
A calming flow.
An unlikely bond beneath the moon.
A silent pact.
A whispered tune.
The scythe hums low, a haunting song.
Of endless harvests, righting wrong.
The dove, a melody, soft and clear.
Of gentle endings, casting out fear.
The masked one listens, eyes closed tight.
As darkness dances with dawning light.
In the rhythm, a truth unfolds.
Life's tapestry woven, stories untold.
The masked one rises, a newfound stride.
The reaper's song now by their side.
To guide the lost, to reap with grace.
A silent guardian in this endless space.



© All Rights Reserved