The Man with A Scorpion’s Tail
A man walks out,
when others hide.
The moon retreats,
the air grows black.
His steps are slow,
but none escape.
The ground will bleed,
where he has passed.
A tail of bone,
and burning sting.
It twists behind,
alive with hate.
It lifts to strike,
without a sound.
It leaves no mark,
yet souls decay.
His eyes are void,
no light remains.
They drink the stars,
until they die.
His voice is ash,
his breath is stone.
He speaks,
and silence answers back.
The earth will crack,
beneath his weight.
The rivers turn,
to poison streams.
No prayer survives,
no fire stays lit.
He walks,
night becomes his crown.
And when the dawn,
begins to glow.
It falters,
broken at his feet.
The scorpion’s tail,
curves once again.
And shadows feed,
upon the world.
About the Creator
Marie381Uk
I've been writing poetry since the age of fourteen. With pen in hand, I wander through realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals hidden thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture your mind❤️
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Comments (1)
What a description of evil personified.