Death's Mistress

The feathered darkness
That wings o'er head
Bodes ill will
But cannot compare
To the midnight tresses
Of the dark mistress.
Nor can the coldest sky
Stand a chance 'side
The cobalt vision
Aimed your way
As beauty walks
Hand and hand
With life's illusion.
The lucifer star
Wanes as the luster
Of her smile promises
Both haven and ruination.
Touch not the burnished form
Of Death's emissary
For her kiss,
Much sweeter than nectar,
Shall carry you to the
Dark Lord's realm and
Your torment shall be but
One more stone she will carry
Before judgement casts
Its cruel eyes upon her.

August 6, 1999

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