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Sympathy for the Devil

I met him late, one cool Autumn night,

The pale glow of the waning moon brushed his figure in a gentle light.

He set his eyes upon mine with a grave and careful grin,

His ghostly expression led me to recall my each and every sin.

His eyes were a delicate tone of light and earnest gray,

His lips, a ghoulish blue, held the prayers he dare not say.

He crossed towards me at an even and measured pace,

He moved with an air of caution, and a swift yet careless grace.

Though we'd never met, his presence was oddly familiar,

A comforting recollection of an encounter just as peculiar.

His hands grasped mine kindly, though his skin was biting cold.

His figure was wrapped in garments of glistening jewels and precious gold.

And as he caught me softly in a tender embrace,

A chill crept down my spine and my heart began to race.

My skin began to crawl and my breath came to a halt.

My ears began to ring, my senses fell under assault,

My words caught in my throat and my mind was lost to panic,

My vision consumed by static, my thoughts grew more so manic.

His icy lips brushed my ear as he whispered an ancient rite,

He'd come to take me with him on that moonlit Autumn night.

Yet his silhouette began to fade into the crisp October breeze,

And he saw I was not prepared so he left as he came in ease.

I was briefly stunned, a bit relieved, nobody'd noticed the intimate scene,

Death is a pleasant acquaintance rather than a ghastly, vicious fiend.

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