The Cold Of Death Poem by Tim Vallie

A chill runs through flesh, and bone
Freezing our very souls
Inside the darkness, all alone
Lost within the Cold

Above only the moonlight
As shapes shift in the gloom
Inside the ever darker night
So clear the sense of doom

As the Cold sinks further down
Eyes glow within the forest
Hunters circle, round and round
They draw close at Death’s behest

Creeping in from very darkness
Seeping down into our blood
Cutting hearts with icy sharpness
Through the veins the Cold does flood

The hunters drawing nearer
Toward our ever nearer end
Our doom shines ever clearer
To the Cold our will’s now bend

The Cold of Death invades us
Down into our very souls
As the Reaper now surveys us
In the distance death bells toll

The wolves descend upon us now
To feast upon our flesh
Letting loose a mighty gruesome howl
As they come to eat us fresh

The Cold of Death embraces me
It has come to take me home
The Cold of Death shall come to thee
And it shall chill ye to the bone

It is felt as the Reaper draws in near
It chills both blood and breath
It makes the hour of doom so clear
It always comes, the Cold of Death