Gothic Poem

The halls were silent, and freshly coated
Painted deep red by the destructive painter.
The various rooms showing the pallets they worked with,
The results of their talent, lying open for the world to see.

The men at arms, paid to protect
Lay broken, scattered, like a child’s toys.
Their weapons found spent and useless beside them,
Powerless against the force that smashed through them.

Beyond them, their employers, in a scene of horror.
Their parts strewn across their en-shadowed thrones.
Mutilated, misshapen, and broken, decrepit.
Their power disrupted in its prime.

And across the walls, in the blood of his victims,
A message. Proclaiming his wills to the world;

“I am the darkness that clouds your judgment,
I am the darkness that obscures your path.
I am the darkness that sits in your heart,
And whispers black nothings, which spoil your soul.
I am the darkness that’s all around us
I am the darkness...
And you will learn...
To fear me.”