Slowly I glide,
My wings are torn,
I can't hide,
The bitterness of this cold morn.
The winds howl as I descend,
Death and doom the gods intend,
But I'm not dying,
As deeper and deeper I am gliding.
Mist grows from curtains of shadow,
Drawn and hiding dark things,
Things not of flesh and marrow,
Their silver tongues sing.
"Come mortal, and dance with death,
We will play on the devil's heath,
And gift you with things of power,
So play and play until the beasts hour!"
**I'll probably give this a sequel, what do you think?*** You can join Unsolved Mysteries and post your own mysteries or
interesting stories for the world to read and respond to Click hereScroll all the way down to read replies.Show all stories by Author:  62066 ( Click here )
Halloween is Right around the corner.. .
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