Phantasmagoria

I stumbled on an unknown glade,
with umbered steps, through forests dark,
my lambent flame began to fade,
a final blink of lantern spark.
Though through a veiled and murky copse,
another light lured me astray,
and made a quivering heartbeat stop,
a spectral glow spurred me its way.
What was this phantom in the wood?
Heaven’s guard or Hellish slave?
its visage under shrouded hood,
awaiting over shallowed grave.
An astral soul or pallid wraith?
of hiemal white infernal guise,
to banish all agnostic faith,
to consummate distempered minds.
I pinstepped close with fervent zeal,
with puzzled fright and constant dread,
to answer mystery so surreal,
and bare this vision of undead.
Upon its shoulder I could see,
I recognized this solemn scene,
its last rites spoke my destiny,
this was no mirage or a dream.
The spirit turned, now all was clear,
and pointing to this corpus new,
it uttered lasting words of fear,
“This is your end. Here lieth you”