By Mitchell Stoycheff
A veil of shadow, your constant friend
Seething in silence as it curls and extends
Breathing in day and exuding the night
Sighing a poison, a billowing blight
Past the shell, in shadow he hides
Stands a figure, a malevolent guide
Cast in alabaster, from strands of moonlight
He stands in the quiet as the ashen knight
A wraith in the dim with no shadow to cast
He glides through the night as a pale contrast
In one hand he holds a blade of blood
That has cut forth a path for a crimson flood
In the other he holds a blade of lore
Of arcane might and mystic score
His first blade hungers, feeding on fear
Bathing in blood and swallowing tears
The second is silent, a virgin to war
Powerful and hungry, it’s a plaguing spore
This ivory knight walks with death
Not at his back but as his breath
As messenger of evil, without a fetter
This scourge of life is agony’s saviour.