Mistress Of Death

She walks at night, on footsteps light,
as silent as the grave.
Mistress of death, with fetid breath,
to claim both king and slave.

Her silk-clad hands hold an atlatl
etched from the fallen's bones.
Release they bring and seem to sing
in haunted, muffled tones.

Her brimstone eyes seal your demise,
as cold as death itself.
No bribes taken, or bargain struck,
She has no need of wealth.

Don't beg or pray, for one more day,
compassion she has none.
Her job complete, she will retreat,
to rest where no man's gone.

For love once knew, but turned untrue,
Achelous had been his name.
But that was then, never again,
would her cold heart bear flame.

So when she beckons from hallowed
halls, and, and calls out, "Follow me,"
then you must leave, while
others grieve, for all eternity.