The Matter of Evil

The Matter Of Evil

Having no feeling nor reason to live,
bringing death where shadow and foot touch,
and foul curtain of black hanging like a thick fog in the late noon air,
and yet humbled of this news of his character and plight.
A relic he is for age and time have lost meaning and have bent in circles,
and have made infinite the flow of seconds in hours,
and hours in days.
And when does the blood end, in the mind or in the head.
For he is dead and bloodless,
and yet moves and contorts,
lurches and crashes the ground with every motion.
Sentinel of stone and steel.
Disciple of destruction.
Harbinger of havoc.
Weaver of the web of chaos and nightmares.
Guardian of the gate of fire and protector of the black mist,
leech of life or parasite of death,
all are his title and yet none of them are descriptive enough.
The best explanation is that it is and nothing more.