In the wee hours of night, in
an old town that time forswore,
An evil awakens
and lurks in the shadows,
Beware all you whose eyes have
fallen heavy and lay asleep,
No mortal is safe,
Wellbeing is just an illusion, an
Illusion bound to vanish in
the fright that draws near,
The devil ascends from the pits
of hell in red-hot flames.
Demons parade before their king,
as they shamble, quakes run across
the old town, causing cracks on the tarmac.
Supplies, utensils jitter in shelves and glasses
shatter,
Horrendous groans close in on all sides,
There isn’t escape from the
grip of the forthcoming terror,
The ice cold embrace of death,
Children cowering under beds, the drapes
on the windows swinging violently from
the Gothic winds that carry Burrs of utter
agony. Green mist with a stench of death
flows into the houses, obliterating whatever
It touches, and every time, a devastating
shrill is last to be heard,
You can run, but there ain’t
a place you can hide,
And the town knew better,
They were all goners,
Goodbyes was the much
They could afford,
They stroke a deal with the
Devil, and the pay was due,
Though the price was simply too
High, Whatever the deal was, I hope
It was worthwhile. And the last of
them fell.
~Muzamir
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