Poetry

He lurks in the shadows,
To never be heard,
His voice in the gallows,
He says not a word.
 
He is Prince of the Dark,
With his secretive reign,
Upon his twilight-ark,
Full of sadness and pain.
 
He would not cause harm,
Nor harass the weak,
With a hand on an arm,
One to help he doth seek.
 
He is dead to the world,
Blank in face and in heart,
His plans won't unfurl,
His words are too tart.
 
He arrives in a wink,
Knowing not where he's been,
And in another blink,
He is gone again.