The Collector of Lost Souls (Part One)

[font=Geneva]Through the fog an mist, in the dead of night
Among the apathetic greed and spite
There walks alone on a dusty path
The shell of burdens aftermath.

Branches block the moonlight’s rays
And hide the path where the Devil plays
There are no signs, no footsteps lead
With stones; a Braille, no blind can read

Damp and heavy hangs the air
With unseen gusts that whip through hair
And ghostly laughter fills your ears
As raindrops fall like angles tears,

No mortal man can walk on this
The path where souls are drained of bliss
But in the shadows frigid drape
A breeze blows through a lone man’s cape

The hero of this damned old path
A savior fights to battle wrath
Untouched or tainted by the cold
Alone he walks; no on to hold

He walks alone with deft in stride
And carried on without his pride
For on this path one walks without
Joy or anger, only doubt

He trudges through decrepit air
Searching for those left in despair
Eyes seek out those broken souls
To patch and mend their gaping holes

This man who walks where no one dared
Was once a man who never cared
He lived one day until the next
And walked through life with no respect

Until one day his soul was torn
And from the wreckage this was born
A selfless duty; epic quest
To save theses souls from vermin pest

His feet alone may grace this path
And he alone must face the wrath
Of broken, battered, beaten souls
Upon the dirt where no man trolls...