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
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