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.

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