In the rule of Queen Victoria,
There was a dark magician,
An alchemist,
Who had forged many wonderful creations,
Used by the crown in many different ways.
His most notable invention,
Was something so foul and horrid,
That it now finds itself locked up,
In a fort along the Thames.
He built an artefact that he hoped,
Would allow him to summon the eldest spirit of all,
The stranger known as, Death.
He crafted it together…
…using stone excavated,
From the haunted mine shaft,
Underneath an ancient church.
…using the dried black snake skin,
From the rare and venomous reptile,
Known as the deadly cottonmouth.
…using sacred and holy temple fires,
From the ruins of the Aztec pyramid,
Salvaged by the Spanish from their conquest.
Finally,
Following just over a year’s work,
He had constructed a large stone table,
Wrapped in the serpent,
And possessing the flame at the top,
Which shone like an ominous beacon.
The last addition was a stone,
Some crystal he had found,
That legend spoke,
Contained the last breath,
Of a dying man.
Once complete,
He didn’t know what to do.
Yes, he had built it,
But did he have the courage,
To use such a thing?
After some time,
He decided to summon the reaper,
And reaching out to the stone,
He called out,
“Stranger who stalks,
Who walks the land,
I summon you hear,
As the fire burns my hand…”
Nothing happened,
At least not at first,
But moments passed,
And soon he saw,
A robed figure emerge,
From between the darkness,
That swallowed the room.
A skeleton figure,
With swirling black clouds,
Oozing over his bones,
And pouring off him,
Like thick fog upon the moors.
There was a dark magician,
An alchemist,
Who had forged many wonderful creations,
Used by the crown in many different ways.
His most notable invention,
Was something so foul and horrid,
That it now finds itself locked up,
In a fort along the Thames.
He built an artefact that he hoped,
Would allow him to summon the eldest spirit of all,
The stranger known as, Death.
He crafted it together…
…using stone excavated,
From the haunted mine shaft,
Underneath an ancient church.
…using the dried black snake skin,
From the rare and venomous reptile,
Known as the deadly cottonmouth.
…using sacred and holy temple fires,
From the ruins of the Aztec pyramid,
Salvaged by the Spanish from their conquest.
Finally,
Following just over a year’s work,
He had constructed a large stone table,
Wrapped in the serpent,
And possessing the flame at the top,
Which shone like an ominous beacon.
The last addition was a stone,
Some crystal he had found,
That legend spoke,
Contained the last breath,
Of a dying man.
Once complete,
He didn’t know what to do.
Yes, he had built it,
But did he have the courage,
To use such a thing?
After some time,
He decided to summon the reaper,
And reaching out to the stone,
He called out,
“Stranger who stalks,
Who walks the land,
I summon you hear,
As the fire burns my hand…”
Nothing happened,
At least not at first,
But moments passed,
And soon he saw,
A robed figure emerge,
From between the darkness,
That swallowed the room.
A skeleton figure,
With swirling black clouds,
Oozing over his bones,
And pouring off him,
Like thick fog upon the moors.
The stare of Death cut through him.
Two voices spoke,
At exactly the same time,
One soft and whispering,
One croaky and deep.
“You have called me, for what reason or rhyme?
You have called me, long before your time.”
The alchemist trembled,
He felt like he wanted to bow down,
Lower his head,
And curl into a ball.
Death repeated his words.
“You have called me, for what reason or rhyme?
You have called me, long before your time.”
It took nerves made of steel,
However,
The alchemist managed to conjure,
And form a sentence.
“My wife, you took her, 4 years ago…
And, I want her back.”
The skeletons head tilted.
“Very well…”
The skeletons claw like hand reached out,
Resting upon the alchemists shoulder,
His cold breath chilling every hair,
Upon the man.
“But if my finger stirs the water,
Then forces will push back,
As the old book says,
An eye for an eye,
Or time in its wonder, will crack”
The alchemist watched on,
As from the curling black smoke,
Of the cloak of Death,
Appeared his wife,
Once again alive.
But for the man,
His day was done,
And the reaper drew him in closer,
Closer and closer,
Until he was caught in the folds,
Of the skeleton’s cape.
He wrestled,
Tried to break free,
But it was no good.
The skeleton moved back towards the shadows,
Returning to his realm,
Continuing to mutter the same words,
He had previously said,
“But if my finger stirs the water,
Then forces will push back,
As the old book says,
An eye for an eye,
Or time in its wonder, will crack”
Two voices spoke,
At exactly the same time,
One soft and whispering,
One croaky and deep.
“You have called me, for what reason or rhyme?
You have called me, long before your time.”
The alchemist trembled,
He felt like he wanted to bow down,
Lower his head,
And curl into a ball.
Death repeated his words.
“You have called me, for what reason or rhyme?
You have called me, long before your time.”
It took nerves made of steel,
However,
The alchemist managed to conjure,
And form a sentence.
“My wife, you took her, 4 years ago…
And, I want her back.”
The skeletons head tilted.
“Very well…”
The skeletons claw like hand reached out,
Resting upon the alchemists shoulder,
His cold breath chilling every hair,
Upon the man.
“But if my finger stirs the water,
Then forces will push back,
As the old book says,
An eye for an eye,
Or time in its wonder, will crack”
The alchemist watched on,
As from the curling black smoke,
Of the cloak of Death,
Appeared his wife,
Once again alive.
But for the man,
His day was done,
And the reaper drew him in closer,
Closer and closer,
Until he was caught in the folds,
Of the skeleton’s cape.
He wrestled,
Tried to break free,
But it was no good.
The skeleton moved back towards the shadows,
Returning to his realm,
Continuing to mutter the same words,
He had previously said,
“But if my finger stirs the water,
Then forces will push back,
As the old book says,
An eye for an eye,
Or time in its wonder, will crack”
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