Summoner

f903663952c49af006d5d598393acaee  death summoner

Glides the summoner
in rhythmic measured steps
to ring down this final curtain
death summoner
slides through the shadowy underside
of the still beating
searching for the marked
the chosen
some walk willingly off the living stage
others must be chained and dragged
with no last dramatic bow
the summoner never stops never hesitates
death will not be swayed,
cannot be disappointed
softly yellow eyes peer ahead
as the newest acquisition comes into view
and she bends to her craft
with a feline smile
using the distant hoof beats of a pale horse like a metronome
she paces
then closes in

*artwork by Lady F/Death Summoner*

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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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