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The Forgotten Oct 2016
A spark was born into the world,
In the darkest of shadows,
Abandoned, uncared for.
  The birth of life with death ..
The coldest of the winds blew
And the auburn leaves quivered,
As the two hooded figures approached..
   One taller than the other,
Claded in black, swaying ..
His eyes, two pits of horrifying darkness,
The utter desolation..
And his scythe by his side...
    The other, swift and elegant,
The cold reverberating through him,
His eyes, empty, void, numb
And yet more terrifying..
    The tallest of them paused,
Pacing towards the aura of life
Within the explicit darkness..
His friend strode by,
For he waits for none ...
    Alone in the dark woods,
Stood the taller of the two
And held within his hands,
The light that had drawn him;
Life wrapped in a cloak ..
    The azure in her eyes pierced
through his pits of darkness ..
He knew he shouldn't feel again,
That he needed to let go ..
  For the darkness allured even the purest of hearts,
But as we often fail to realise, light allures the darkness too ...
    As her eyes stared into his, unblinking,
So fragile yet so fierce, He was rooted ..
For she had awakened the soul in him,
Long dead, rotten ...
As he held her tight, staring at the moonlit sky,
He wished that his friend shall never return ..

Eves of love and laughter passed by,
The other friend was almost forgotten ..

That night, as she held his hands, while they watched the beautiful pearls that lit the sky ..
Dread filled him as it had never before,
For he felt his presence, closer and closer,
His friend was coming ...
  
He held her tight,
The night became the coldest of winter nights ..
The friend stood there,
The time had come ...
He begged for mercy, but those bitter eyes knew none.
The fate was decided and the choices made,
The taller of the friends stood up,
Raised his scythe and striked ...
                  Au revoir
And he walked away, ****** and broken.
He shut himself into the darkness,
Chained his soul so as to never break free,
He vowed not to feel again ..
The azure in her eyes buried deep,
Along with his despair ..
      For this was who he was,
   Death, the despicable death ..

He waited for his friend to arrive,
The life of another was to be taken.
He waited ...
         For he was Death,
         And Death waits for Time,
         But Time waits for none ...
Bryant Aug 2018
You are crank driven
A horseless carriage
Claded in bright aposematic ineptitude
Lacking modern conveniences

Sacrificing ulna and radius
Endeavoring pathos paved pathways
Posthumous attempts to reanimate your shrill stridulating passions

A mouribund effigy; a jaded figurine
Cubits, densely compressed and saliferous
Swaddled in a presageful glow
Emitted from the baleful blaze of your selfish structures

A fate befitting Edith's Lot

The ruination sweats your skin and dampens your intentions
Thermal dermal swelling
Blistering your membrane
Leaving you immobile at the foot of the Elysian ladder
Each rung strutting arrogantly upward
Loftily looming
Casting shade on a endless maelstrom

I must maintain a certain stride
My gait in a perpetual state of evasion
Deftly dodging pothole and snare

The landscape scrolls behind my silhouette, but the earth below me is less than glacial
I am transfixed

Breaching the wall of the squall

Its ceaseless variants of gray baffle and blur my vision

A wicked progenitor
Casting an opaquing shroud
It's moisture osmotically fills you with dysphoria​ and self doubt
Polluting your saccharine mixture
A homeostatic response
Propagating morose bitterness throughout

Transmuted; lewd, crude, and shapeless
Seeking to encapsulate

— The End —