a
the growth,
the blackguard heart
the dark continent.
Slaying all in his wake,
and young alike—
I know he searches for me.
It’s my name etched on his sickle,
name he whispers before
death, each night.
It’s my face that haunts
dreams, my face that drives
ever onward, my face he sees
all the faces that he meets.
Out of fear I have been driven
hiding—no one can touch me
me thinking of his touch,
and final as ice.No one smiles
I see him grinning, leering,
skull’s head with burning coals
in his eyes, a wormed tongue
his mouth. In my dreams no one
he rides out to meet me
open arms.
* * * *
