An elusive clarity,
Sired in the cloak of darkness,
Crowned in the misty spires of shadows,
Eerie and leering, he looks on.
But I have seen the truth of him,
The truth of his lies.
I have glanced his face,
Abounded with ugliness,
He bears the ugliness of a thousand men,
Uglier still with every gesture.
Deadened and reddened,
Drooping from his billowy parchment skin,
He has no bones,
I see his saggy sallow cheeks,
A putrid slit for a mouth,
Eternally spinning the lore of woe,
Holes for ears and a nose,
I wonder if he breathes at all.
Rusted and wrought.
I have seen his face,
Perched atop men’s breasts and women’s skulls,
Like the vulture he is.
I know the truth of this creature,
Though his might may never cease,
I have glanced his face from the rear,
The face of fear.