Paranormal poems

...He wispers silent on the wind.
Spins his tepid tales of sin...

Why should I listen?
he's not my friend...

I wonder when he'll call again...

Through the years I have questioned and quested
And at last fruition is at hand
My spirit and diligence tested
and found to be great amongst Man.

This prize upon which I have stumbled,
this wonder that I cannot flee,
the towers of nations long crumbled
now yield all their secrets to me.

At last the great work is completed
The lore of the annals of Time
is wrested from Angels defeated
in blasphemy great and sublime.

So I take up the scythe of the Reaper
I lay claim to the land of the dead
The darkness within waxes deeper
and from my soul departeth Chesed.

The cosmos are laid out, objective,
the all-seeing Eye opens wide
and at last it is all in perspective--
there is nowhere for mortals to hide.