A Chilling Tale Poem by Warren Atherton

With a last gasp of innocence
The Reaper turned its' head.
Precipitated anger burned
Through evil eyes of red-
Eyes of the undead.

Ghastly tasks beheld it,
Born of witches womb.
Rotting flesh its' maddening crave's
To feed straight from the tomb,
A horror in full bloom.

A lone and silent creeper
A trail of stench behind,
Place one foot upon its' path
And it you'll surely find.
A blessing to be blind!

So venture not in darkness
And burn your candles low,
A predator you'll never find
Like this-the hacking foe!
Take heed, you never know.