The Black Death

A hooded figure clad in black
Glides round collecting
An icy chill follows

After the hooded figure leaves
Ashen faces and cold corpses remain
Cries of mourners haunt his steps

People fear the appearance
Of his unknown face
Hidden in shadow

Crying out to him
The people beg the Angel of Death
To spare their lives

Dying in fear
Of the unknown
The angel of death
Continues collecting

Return to rien151's poems