She has a chair in the corner of a little house,
She eats her meals, does her chores, quieter than a mouse.
She never seems to blink or stir when She is in your sight,
She knowingly just sits there as She deems to be her right.
She stares with fearful power, no mortal would ever seek,
She blinds whoever tries to keep with her dark eyes bleak.
She’s never been heard laughing, only stifled little smirks,
She somehow knows of all our dooms, finding humor in evil works.
She goes to school with innocents whose souls She could then bind,
She’d only need to play the friend for their lives to be signed.
She easily could lead them off like sheep before the slaughter,
She chooses to, for now, abstain lest someday they should prod her.
She'll make them quake before her on the day they question deeper,
For She will someday then be seen as Daisy, The Soul Reaper.
No comments:
Post a Comment