In shadows deep, Death's whispers creep,
A specter cold, its secrets keep,
Beneath the moon's pale, haunting glow,
It beckons with a chilling woe.
Through corridors of endless night,
It roams, a harbinger of blight,
A scythe in hand, a silent vow,
To reap the souls that fate allows.
Each step a echo of despair,
Its presence fills the midnight air,
No mortal eye can pierce its shroud,
As Death descends with silence proud.
So heed the warning, mortal kin,
For Death's embrace is not a sin,
But know that when your time has come,
The Reaper's song will call you numb.
YOU ARE READING
Explorations from a Writing Class
Spiritualeshort stories that i came up with in my writing class
