How Nightcomers Are Born
by Michael Romani

Legends be damned, it is just who they are
Casted aspersions as living reflections of the night
Festered inside the wicked, burning wounds
That lay open unhealed too long before they scar
These denizens of hate; deniers of the light
God have mercy; God have mercy!
For the mistakes of that dark coven of heresy
For those born of wicked, burning wounds

Hopeless in their solitary festering of pain
It begins the questioning of all that's sane
A half remembered search for an identity
Identified less in good than lack of sanctity
Witches brewed in all of this, are all they
Forsake of the true God; believers in heresy
Until, a plea is made to that God for mercy
But, there is none for the Devil's aristocracy

Not for the despisers and killers of innocent life
Contemptuous of His peace; they live for strife
Destroyers of the sacred like no others
Baring the darkness like unholy mothers
Agile as the pain of a scorpion's sting
There is no solution, only sin, in what they bring
The ship of doom sails on with it's broken mast
Crawling out of the primordial swamp of the past

You must leave behind all that you ever were
Leaving your innocence lost in a dark blur
All that you are now may have leave to enter
After all, you know that you are a bored dissenter
From the ways of God and all that is Holy
The old crone laughs and cackles somewhat madly.
Trepidatiously you step on through that door
And you once were - you are no more

(c) August 14, 2017  Michael Romani
All Rights Reserved