O Soul of Mine

The sky was dark, the night was still,
even the crickets seem'd too tired to chirp,
over one half world, nature seemed dead,
as her inhabitants were lost in nightmarish slumber.

A stifling wind, carrying with it carrion air,
that smelled of rot and filth flowed silently passed the windows,
no light, no shadow nor even silhouette was seen,
the leaves neither spoke nor motioned.

gingerly he steeped out the door,
face frowning as foul air mixed with his blood,
his veins fell silent, the blood therein stagnant,
it was the air, i swear, the air.

this nasty wind that stilled the spine,
grew filthier as more souls it possessed,
connecting bodies in an unending chain,
it spread through darkness, it crept into veins.

only from light, this menace did fly,
as if the sun could bleach it,
and take thence the pain and rot,
banish it back to its depths.

yet every night the wind did seep,
silent in the silence,
driven back by sunlight,
that gave back to mortal men, the life.

i woke up from my death one night,
to find resistance against the air,
and from thence i followed it to its source,
to seek it, in its lair.

into the mouths of many men it led me,
down beneath the heart,
and there, in each one of them i spied,
black sickness oozing out.

it must come from the heart,
for it was directly beneath,
this slime was the blood of the soul,
decaying, it was discharged.

oh man, what have you done,
to throw out your very soul,
can you no longer live with yourself?
to look upon what you have done?

so it has become, and so it must end,
to all, an untimely death shall come,
the skies are bleak,
the soul has turn'd black,
farewell, to those whom i once knew,
for we are changing even as we sleep,
when i wake up again, i might not know you.