The Darkling Mist of Wrath

The malice flowing within thine eyes speaketh to me…
It tells me thee hath slain thy foes for which, thee didst so loathe.
Their screams for mercy have impressed themselves in thy forehead,
And scream out now to me.
The torturous pain thee hath conferred to them 
Doth swim with every wag of thy tongue!
Alas, they seven foes slain shalt always remember their slayer.

As thee doth spy the sun in the early hours,
Peering east and watching the birth of day,
Thou dost forget, and nevermore regret.
Ah, but whence the golden sphere of joy
Findeth its way overhead,
Thee dost suddenly feel its burn!  
As it slices its way into thy flesh, thou dost flee

Now as thee doth sit watching the sun fall beneath yonder mountains,
Absorbing the beauty of the death of life
And welcoming the birth of death…
Something else is also welcoming the birth of death…
Yet the birthing of this death shan’t be of light,
Nay!  
It should be the malice and loathing of those thee didst slay!

As the darkly mist solemnly silences all,
Thy screams for mercy impress themselves upon a reflecting forehead, screaming back to thee!
The hatred resonating from the wraith
Who taketh upon himself the duty of wrath.
“Please, I beg of thee mercy!  Mercy!  I so beseech thee, please do not kill me!”
“Ah, taketh life I shall not…I shalt only damn thee to this planet eternally!”
The phantom said, as the darkling cloud absorb’d into the man’s veins.