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Rated: E · Poetry · Fantasy · #1397447
A brief poem to go with my new handle on another site.
Nightrider

When night has a sharp edge,
it seeps through your bones,
pitch-black in darkness
you fear the unknowns.

Nightrider's coming
on midnight's cold breath,
and sitting behind him;
is an old friend called Death.


The Reaper sig
© Copyright 2008 T.L.Finch (t.l.finch at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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