Shadows in the Mist
By Lawrence W Langman (c)

He held this staff 
of fire and steel.
Onyx and Sapphires
so hot that it sears.
It's essence of magic
it's myths are surreal.
Encompassed by ire
thirsty for fears.

What beauty it holds
from souls it expired.
Foretold are the tales
of glorious powers.
The pain it demands it's
the blood that's required.
It calls for vengeance
and souls it devours.

So listen to the sounds
of static in the air.
The coming of a storm
brewing from it's fire.
It dances in the darkness
down deep dark despair.
Breaking all that's holy
your faith has no desire.

The keeper of the sect
protector of his faith.
A path he's walked alone
a staff that dost possess.
Walking between two worlds
with scythe a rod and wraith.
When your numbers called
your life you now confess.

He leads you into a realm
where limbo never sleeps.
The rich the poor are one
forever equals they will be.
No more sorrow shall befall
no more eye shall ever weep.
For once death calls on all
no one shall ever foresee.