Corey Adams
Jul 24, 2017 · 1 min read

I am Death

The day has passed when night falls, when night stands tall. The path that lies ahead which the past has shed pulls the filament of the heart that bled. He who rides upon the cold, desolate wreckage of those forebear dead.

My incorporeal visage strikes upon thee, shattered that brave, mighty and desultory. Run, flee, but do not mock by mechanical hand vast as the sea. May revenges be swift omissions of fate, contributing souls to colossal debris.

I laugh, for none have evaded my cynical cataclysm of night. For the day arises, only to be met by laconic might. Darker and darker I breathe, consuming those that bade of life, sheparding the dying of the light.

No man has walked the derelict lane and in this interlude remained. The man thinks, is not a moment of athanasy better than none gained? The grave of man his fate has brought, the cold, languid blood of those lineage has rained.

The end has come, brought by despair. The darkness thickens and it is of these words man becomes aware; “I am Death, most evil of evil, look upon my might and distain in the air. It is of these men whose terrors I bear.”