The Watcher

By Roger Ruthen

Chain Border

Those that are alone tonight,
are wise to fear this verse.
Only those of bravest heart,
escape the 'Watcher's' curse.

A final chance for freedom,
just stop the reading now.
Once past this warning stanza,
the yoke is chained to plough.


Welcome to our sanctum,
so glad we could entice,
your taste for things occult,
and ignoring good advice.

Before proceeding further,
hone well the blade of wit.
No petty task is given,
when deciphering this script

'Blow north the ancient winds.
Keep southern waters flowing.
In western soil our faith grows.
As eastern fires are glowing'.

Those without the knowledge
proceed from here with care.
For you are not alone now,
do you sense an icy stare?

Our master serves Diabolis,
As you do now my friend,
Taking souls in sacrifice,
and helping them descend.

The 'Watcher' keeps his vigil,
over those alone at night.
He that waits in shadows,
needs to feed his appetite.

If ever you are chosen,
don't scream 'it isn't fair'.
Panic is the 'Watchers' friend,
he thrives on man's despair.

Let me prepare the future,
it really is exquisite.
This is how your body feels
when master comes to visit

Immersed in frightful silence,
heart pounding fit to burst.
Breath held and then forgotten,
throat cracking from the thirst.

Rivulets on sweating brow,
hair standing proud in fear
Terror rising from the gut,
the end is drawing near.

Talons grasp the lily neck,
ringing vessels dry.
Can you hear help coming?
No, just your final sigh.

The hellish sight that follows,
Is a story hard to tell.
Description of the horror,
can find no match in hell.

So you ask, damned reader,
What is this hellish sight.
What need is there to tell you,
you will see yourself tonight

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