By Eve Roper

Thick, black clouds gathered overhead,
veiling the moonlight with guise dread.

Wind weaves with howls, and spies embed
a gaunt hollow man in its stead,
lifting his black mound shroud a ted,
refusing to release its dead.

Strain, he stands searchingly ahead;
pain screams rip from his throat and bled.
A stir in the air dares to sped
on as he falls to his knees unfed.

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