DeathDeath rides at midnight
Filling the land with blight He casts a frightful image As he rides through the village His frightful scythe gleams Wet with the blood of unrealized dreams The cold, hard metal Is uncaring enough to unsettle Beneath his dark hood Lies nothing good Only the husk of a man Who signals the end of a lifespan His skeletal horse He rides along his dutiful course Whinnying as he stops To kill the farmer's crops Solemn is his duty To take away life's beauty Unbearable to a living man The underworld's ghastly helmsman The pistol is his herald In his black cloak appareled Weapons of war Bring him to the door His job is made no easier Nor and breezier By mankinds love of violence Or vile fraudulence All the thousands of young souls Lives lost without completing their goals Brought to a swift end By Death only to attend Death rides at midnight Filling the land with blight He casts a frightful image As he rides through the village Searching for souls to pillage
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Welcome to The Writers Block!AuthorKen Mears is a new 17 year old author, here to share his wisdom, advice, and experiences with you, the reader! Archives
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