Voleur
One night, I walked along a path by the shore of a dark, forbidding sea.
To one side, monumental cliffs of rugged rock arose sharply --
To the other, fomenting, savage waves of crisp, salt water.
Above, no stars shone in the blackness of the night.
Ahead in the distance, a dark figure loomed, a cloak concealing his skeletal frame.
Slowly, deliberately, I walked through the darkness, destination unknown,
Keeping my eye fixed upon the phantom figure drawing near.At last, we met, and greeting me with a low and empty voice, he spoke:
"My name is Voleur," and removed his somber hood.
His face was deadly white and bony, his smile icy cold, his eyes dark and vacant,
His nose crooked and pointed long. "Tell me your deepest thoughts
And dreams," he continued, as a chill crawled down my spine.
Strangely, I felt compelled to speak, defenses down.
I spoke of my dreams and thoughts -- and fears.I must have spoken hours, though it felt like mere seconds as I talked,
For as I finished, I felt drained, exhausted and strangely empty.
My mind seemed a void -- what had he done?I peer down now at my hands -- they are thin, long and ghostly white.
I feel my face -- bony, too... my nose, crooked,
Pointed long. I glance at the stranger -- a mirror image of my former self.
He has stolen my identity.I wear his cloak, his hood, and watch myself smile and walk on.
Empty, without purpose, I pull up my hood and walk on alone.
Soon, another figure approaches, another lonesome wayfarer on his sojourn.
Without a thought, but mere instinct, I approach, lower my hood and say,
"My name is Voleur..."