To You, Lover and Lord

There are harpies from hell that with you take flight,

They soar above rooftops on wings of the night.

There is nothing to see in a world that killed light —

And to you, oh to you, do I cry.

Let me pine for the ages on shadow-born wings,

As the cracked throat of death like a dead baby sings.

Where the vultures and worms feast on foul, fetid things —

It’s to you, to my Lord, do I cry.

As death and as woe wear the shadow of sin,

Upon the lost souls of dead, wandering men,

The cloak of my madness now billows within —

And to you, oh to you, I do cry.

And the foul, fetid things that give monstrous birth,

As the dead twist and crawl on the bones of the earth,

Then feast on the living in cold, savage mirth —

To you, Lover and Lord, do I cry.

To read my other horror poems, click below:

To the Lord of the Dead

Torn Rose

'Twas the Night Before Hallowmass

The Other Dreamless Sleep

Dead We Are Not!

Fed to Machines

Cruel Brünhilde

The Mouth of Hell

Molotov: Poems by Tom Baker

Ebook (1.10 USD,)

Connect with me on Facebook