Ode to a Wraith - Poem about King of Ringwraiths

Your malevolent posture adorns you
Ode to a Wraithe

Once a king of old
Now turned to the dark lords slave
Hailed to a world of darkness
In your solitary disgrace

Your body frayed and twisted
Malformed to the worst of nature
Pale complexion has withered
A soul exposed to the worst of torture

Your black rags they tell a silent tale
Sinister whispers unravel a taunt
A high-pitched screech, horrific yell
Another facet of your haunt

An evil burns deep within your heart
Where demons scream and coil
The withered hand you lift to order
Makes your flesh quiver and boil

Your malevolent posture adorns you
And In the eyes of an innocent fights
Pure terror your essence leeks
Destroying purity in mid flight

A venomous sword you carry
To slay the one you seek
The death of that halfing
In Mordor this glory you'll reap

Your destiny is condemned
A bane till the end of time
A murky shadow you carry
Servant to the invisible eye.

© 2002 J L Copestake

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