Dead of the night - Poetry
The house went up in flames,
The hour of dread engulfing it.
The labyrinth of glory,
A passion of the artist.
A kind of moster that it was,
Roared into the night.
The thread of evil,
Was all but wound,
Tightly all around.
The shadow of tears,
Warned the evil lord away.
Tickling to the clock of doom,
It was only but a matter of time.
The path was laid with traps,
All designed to set you free.
Free from the ways of evil,
Down the chain to the weakest link.
It was a night of horror,
They came to acknowledge and move on.
