Denial

Denial made a scene on the street,
his eyes bent soft poles of moonlight.
To move in the shadows, was a little feat.
the lonely gave in without a fight.

His devilish eyes, his puppet-masters touch,
he fed on the vulnerable night-time.
The lonesome girl in the corner didn't prove to be much,
and down he drifted to prey on her quiet-time.

With sharpened finger, he drew her in shrouds,
so thick that despair was awakened.
Denial exclaimed, but softly not loud,
"On this girl's death I will rest my patent".

Away he lept, his deed now done.
The sun outshone the moon,
to illuminate a scene, so devilishly won.
The sun wept, "Denial! You crafty loon".