No shadows
danced around my campfire
No candles were
lit, no celestial choir
Trumpets were
silent as a lonely grave
Drums muffled
the march of the brave
I stood staring
at the pallor of your face
There was no
malevolence, there was no grace
Only hunger to
consume my wretched soul
My breath utterly
under your sweet control
You whispered,
you moaned softly in my ear
In a soft kiss
while you plunged your spear
Into my heart
mocking my labored breath
You said with
triumph: My name is Death
Max O’Reilly
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