Silent wings, night's black cloak
God's life forge, too little wood to stoke
Master rich, servant lame
Feral beast, carthorse tame
All bow to herald of the black
Snow white face, a mournful mask
This reaper's more man than… anything
Gentle touch, softened call
Freeing one and all with…
Scythe so keen, but with lackluster sheen
Justiciar of mortality, impartial of morality
Same knife struck the killer what smote down the kind priest
All pulled to stand in the line
As seen through the eyes of Azrael
Faces of no one and all
Answered the pale master's whisper
Came unto him, made him his cowl
The shroud which hides him, hides his face
Hides his pain
Hides his loneliness, such bitter rain
As only can be felt by this ferryman
Forever to wander these lands
Clasping lifeless hands
Carrying them to eternity
Scythe so keen…
'He who walks the never ending path, doomed to see all, but never feel.
Such is a man damned more than the darkest sinner of hell. The empty one, the eternal watcher, guide to the promised land. Azrael, death's messenger.'
Hearken ye, silence foreboding
Azrael calls, and we must hearken
Fly with him once, on his silent wings
And see through his eyes what the next world will bring
Scythe so keen, but with lackluster sheen
Justiciar of mortality, impartial of morality
Same knife struck the killer what smote down the kind priest
All pulled to stand in the line
All pulled in line
We are all pulled in line
As seen through the eyes
The eyes of Azrael
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem