Upon the dame's white mare,
between moonlight wings,
on silk light,
His devil himself.

His hide dark and obscure as night,
His eyes burning and ferocious as fire.

A slow trot they dance,
Her wings barely grazing the sky,
and he sings his shadow tune...

          Upon this mare I sit,
          a menacing figure, that's it.
          A touch from me,
          not one plea
          and death's a painless pit.

~ A Demonic Poet