King of the Catacombs

I reign
among bitter souls
whose whispers escape
in the night wind,
welcoming the eclipse
forever held in darkness.
Their hymns awaken
slumbering tales, pain
anchored to the moon’s
cry. The grave aches
for a new sacrifice.
The willing gather,
bearing time’s torch,
cloaked in crimson rose
petals begging for a taste
of forever — death’s salvation.
Within my hand rests
the chalice of time.
Drink and join
the King of the Catacombs.

© 2023 Rena Aliston. All rights reserved.