Bright lights puncture holes
In the velvet-blue night sky
Crowds cheer for thunder
Bright lights puncture holes
In the velvet-blue night sky
Crowds cheer for thunder
As the sun shone its
Last rays across the landscape
Moonlight touched his blade
Pointing a waxen
Finger, the sickly witch watched
The figure crumble
Pressure her spirit
Sunk, no more the sunlight shone
The light had gone out
Sitting on the dock
She watched the gulls fly homeward
Sea air filled her lungs
A chill washed over
Her like a crushing wave, she
Was dangerous now
This hard day spent cruel-
ly under his greasy thumb
Was the last of it
Before the altar
He knelt, knowing he would rise
Once more at his death
His eyes filled with grit
Her throat coated with hot sands
Their worlds were vanquished
Things aren’t going according to plan
But, truly, how can we control what does?
The fates would appear to have an unfair advantage,
Leading our protagonist by a string
Or is it a hangman’s rope?