Grudges like Devils

linger as the clock strikes eleven

cackling as their slave is

wrinkling and being consumed in wasting

draping a robe

of black velvet over her withered body

a hand ticks

the clock talks

a minute and a stroke away

a second and a strike away

clanging come chimes

in the distance a wail

away and up

fluttering like a bat

silhouetted against the world below

the slave of hatred rides

at midnight