A phantom in man’s dreams, driving fear for the soul. Silent hunter as it is, It stalks preys in shadows. Lurking in many spaces, snatching the unsuspecting, it chooses no special place. Time is within its claws. Merciful face of death, it can be swift and just. Or an ugly vendetta, as pain devours the flesh. An inevitable fate. The living’s destiny. When or where to strike? Unknown to men. One thing is certain… In death’s glorious time, or moments of gloom, We die alone.
(c) Maximilian Montes @ November 11, 2009 'Ugly realities.'