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The Fear.

Sat upon the lazy darkness,
consumed upon immortality,
thy sit upon thy tower
as I slowly slither,
up above,
and down upon,
your demise.

Eating quickly,
feasting on armies,
reinventing them in forms unknown,
swirling around in your
bowl of soup,
some black,
some white,
who can tell who they were,
or there intentions,
all that is left is for you to decide,
what place shall you send them,
where shall they be,
as you decide,
I still slowly slither,
up above,
and down upon,
your demise.

As you turn to face me,
I soon realise,
as I glare through slits,
at your own deep blue lights,
in sockets,
the ultimate power,
of your soul,
impossible for me to break,
no emotion shown or found,
in those dark sockets,
and only nothingness of those shiny lights,

Tantalising as they are,
as I slither slowly,
expanding on realisation,
I try to draw away,
inevitably I cannot,
thus I give in,
As my plan comes into place,

I too,
of all people
slither into your bowl of souls,
and mine soul mix with others,
as I stand joined with others,
intertwined with their souls,
As before they were black,
doomed, now, joined with mine,
they are of the purest white, blazing through,
and as we stand,
at your door,
knocking powerfully,
striking ever closer,
I see emotion in those sockets,
it is not sadness,
nor Happiness,
nor annoyance,
but only,
fear,
as I slowly slither,
up above,
and down upon,
your demise.

Poetry by Ryker-Lei Glasgow
Read 1067 times
Written on 2009-09-25 at 22:16