deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Rogue
Towards him, darkest hours
A scoundrel submerges his ways
In venom lined with petals
Of a flower’s given haze
And nay, the serpent not pause
Nor the tavernkeep pour
A whirling breeze of wanderlust
Doth draw him about the floor
But stay, what doth resound?
‘Twere that of a sigh
Save, mere intoxication
Cesspool of liquor cloud him high
Drowsy steps coupled with a yawn
And cognition to reassure
Muttering words of perfect safety
Nothing spake beyond the door
An unsettling shrill, did the gate give
Retracting and emitting a viler sound
The wind behaving most distressed
Nary a blade wave on the ground
Expelling worry in a breath
Anxious visage and terror vent
Under grievous light, a ghastly moan
Black Angel of Death upon him sent
It cometh on carrion strife
Without summons nor symptom
Hounds black beside itself
Sniffing for life’s serum
His grasp unfolded, and with it, hell
Clawing for flesh and blood, they tore
Igniting Earth beneath their savage limbs
The fool doth fell in pool of gore
The smog of mutilation clung thick to the air
Ivory of fang into ivory of bone
Innards and entrails far masticated
Skull bare for catacomb
And Death did turn Its head and sneer
And the beasts did quench their thirst
For if thee feel It can be tricked
Have thee cause to fear the worst
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