Poem- The Shadowlord

He stands in his castle alone,
An elf, it's plain to see.
His long ears pricked up to listen,
The sounds of pain are heard below.
And with them he cracks a smile.

He gathers his weapons by moonlight.
His scythe, deliverer of death and destruction.
And a longsword, gleaming and beautiful in the moon's light.
He pulls on a long black cloak.
Blending him with the darkness.

His long blue hair and pale violet eyes
His only reminder of home.
Home to him a dream.
A terrible loss from his life.
Everything dear to him gone, making him cold inside.


                                                      -Jennifer Laughlin copyright 2001