A Poem by Emily Shade

A cold wraith in the grave
Never shreaks;
You may have feared him, did you not,
His loathing never is.

The darkness hates as with a sword,
A wretched claw is seen;
And then it slithers at your feet
And stops eternally.

He shreaks a bloody crypt,
A crypt too cruel for phantoms.
Yet when a corpse, and gargantuan,
Kills more than once, at night,

Having slithered, I searched, a scythe
Fading in the mist, -
When, clawing to crush it,
It crumbled, and was lost.

Ten-thousand of hell's wraiths
I kill, and they smash me;
I feel for them a tempest
Of wrath;

But forever dreamed this creature,
Attended or alone,
Without an uncontrollable fighting,
And emptiness at the bone.

("Emily Shade" is a program that generates poetry using structures from the works of Emily Dickenson and words from the works of H.P. Lovecraft.)