Something darker than my usual, from a current novel WIP. Do not call up that which you cannot put down.

Echoes of wings and the beat of a heart
Carefully set to the side.
The knowledge of things now rent apart
And terrors no soul can abide.

A sword on his hip, as staff in his hand
And a silver gleam in his eye
When he dresses in black and makes no demands
Someone is going to die.

There is no forgiveness nor yet any warmth
No more remains in his soul
When he dresses in black and goes from his hearth
And brings the wicked their toll.

No pity will stay him, nor mercy incline
That has long passed away.
No paltry remorse will pay for these crimes
Nor any false word they can say.

So guard well your hearts, to virtue now cleave
As you rest soft in your homes.
When wickedness takes what it should not receive
Beware then the Duke of Bones.

Duke of Bones copyright © Heather Strickler 2025 all rights reserved