The Collector of Souls

Posted on May 19, 2012

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The trees bend in the wind
Creaking and groaning in the dark
Whilst above the moon casts its rays
Slivers shining through each branch

Leaves blow around the trees
Dancing in the moonbeam’s light
Twisting, forming, becoming
Something just out of sight

A noise like a howl escapes
From the twisting, dancing maelstrom
Something other than the wind
That grows becoming strong

Animals scatter and run in fear
Hiding, they cower away
This thing that does form
Has come from the darkness to play

Old and ancient it is
This creature of the dark
Going back before the written word
To even before Noah’s Ark

Angry, ravenous and so very hungry
It’s come now to feed
This collector of souls so ancient
Here for what it needs

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