In twilight’s hush, the crows take flight,
Their wings like ink on fading light.
A chapel moans with wind’s lament,
Where tombstones lean, long dreams unspent.
The roses bleed in moonlit gloom,
Each petal mourning from the tomb.
A shadow stirs with silent breath.
The velvet touch of gentle Death.
He walks not cruel, but calm, austere,
A lullaby for those who fear.
And in his arms, the weary rest.
A final kiss, forever blessed.
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Author:
Iris Lynn (
Offline) - Published: October 5th, 2025 12:26
- Category: Gothic
- Views: 14
Offline)
Comments1
I think I know this guy, many call him dark but that is not all bad. Have written about him before and yes that kiss is what we have all been waiting for.
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