Dark Knight
Pitch black, like the night on a new moon;
His twisted, darkened form created so soon.
He rises from the grave, as Death takes it's wings.
He flies into the air, to his chariot he clings.
Into the bleak night sky he rides,
On his skull encrusted chariot he glides.
Guided by his six midnight steeds,
Flying off to accomplish his dark deeds.
Soaring high in the chill starless night,
He spies his prey like a beacon so bright.
Down to the ground he swoops like a hawk.
His blade flashing, the scythe hits its mark.
His face looms, polished silver under a dark hood,
His vile evil banishing all that's pure and good.
His bone white fingers rip apart mortal souls,
His eyes shine bright like ember coals.
The death Bringer, evil singer,
He is the Dark Knight.
Black winger, with deadly fingers,
The Dark Knight rides on.
- Michelle Wetmore