Le Marchand de La Mort

Le Marchand de La Mort

On night he dwells, by day he breaks
Loose; away, from conscious wake
Neck arched forward and head hung bowed
He glides towards the humans' howl

There, in the village, a party lives!
He cuts through night and air alike
When they retire, a gift to give
Towards the vault of an abysmal sky

When sound does die, and light grows dim
He clutches the door handle and creeps within
The stairs do creek, yet not for him
As his desire pulls to steal your sins

What do you know when you are asleep?
The breach from one dimension into the next
A life parallel; what memories to keep?
Transfixed in slumber, body hexed
Your spirit dissolves where your body cannot
A vulnerable vessel inviting death
Whose invisible hands untie the knot
You already loosened when your soul left

With a lipless smile he draws you near
Your happy dreams come to an end
He thrusts himself into your being
And steals your soul while you are sleeping

Your eyes spring open
Cast through a void
From ecstasy
His earnesty
Cradles you like a child

When his presence envelopes
You feel nought but numb
Searching for an intruder
Your soul succumbs

As flesh and life are drawn apart
You make no sound, you do not start
And when your soul does ebb away;
Before your mind knows no more
You  look and gaze into the face
de le Marchand de la Mort.

Parris Traynor