By Darkness's Hand

In the luminous rays of the Moon’s glow, a man sat beneath it, old and sorrowed

And the creases on his head, burrowed furious, creating lumpy mountains and hills

For as the gloom around him beckoned, its murmurs heard, its fingers curled

That same old man, stood so abruptly, that darkness banked against his will

Hissing; spatting, beyond it cursing; a cry so evil it’s most disconcerting,

Still this old man, his limbs now shaking, against it stood so profoundly,

And breath so silently swept the night, sending an appearance so devoutly charming,

Still against the man, in his elder state, his eyes so ancient, his mind so calmly,

The moon, she shined, in protective glows, against the night and its foes,

But by his hand, the man waved her away, in a respectful manner, to please her ‘til day,

And night took form, beyond its own, and to this man crept, with chuckles and howls,

So still this man stood, no fear in his eyes; to Darkness he beckoned “Let the night shades come play”,

And then the old man fell, so quickly, so swiftly; fallen by Night’s foul hand,

And laying there, his breath it quivered; no, not from fear, there for him was none to linger,

For when the heart and mind shall fail; the beckoning light will shadow the land,

And the fleeting soul will catch that light; and for the old man, he’s one of many; an angel singer.