Tonberry - 2012/10/27

Lantern held in his tiny hand
A knife brandished in another
He is making a claim on blood
Within our veins and no other

He advances with slow motions
Never uttering a single sound
Somehow we are quite confident
He means to bury us in ground

Flames flicker within his eyes
This lethargy is but the front
He will use to pry open hearts
Prior to tearing out the shunt

His frail form embodies terror
Likes of which we do not share
For they all have seen him too
Whilst pretending not to care

Blasé it might seem to slay him
With great power I surely would
For he is the harbinger of doom
Of which only a few understood

So he continues his long journey
To places eyes are happy without
That ground upon which he treads
Breeds nightmares soon to sprout

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