The Love Of Death Poem by Keith Parsons

Long shadowy figures glide slowly over ground
The place called L'mour de mort
Welcomes all around

These beings, the lovers of the darkened world
Seek their own, their own rancor
From life, from death unfurled

Trembling hands of bony spurs reach out to hold
The 'Fleshlings' from the upper world
A life from them cajoled

The mortal pass is handed out to anyone with thirst
A treasured prize of sin begins
The fairest taken first

From whence they come these evil shells, a hollow living hell
Death for them we know not what
The likeness we dispel

A still air moves, a coldness creeps, a holler at the moon
The bone brigade has made their way
To houses hillside strewn

And one by one they creep inside past walls and lock and door
The sleeping silent people
Rouse briefly before the 'mort'

Their bodies still, died in their sleep, a funeral for flesh
The underneath, the other side
Lie death and death enmeshed