Vellum Headache

The sun comes up like it does every morning.
The moon takes over at the end of the afternoon.
If sleep fails to arrive then the days and nights will seem
Like a thread spinning  on a wheel.
The fever runs high to every second in bed.
As the night owl sings lullabies for that vellum headache.
The shadows remain, pointless in their stay.
The air gently breaths thy name.
An angel will be coming from the highlands in the sky.
The doctor said, “It’s just a matter of tyme.”
The nails drive through, splitting images from thoughts.
As the night is turning darker, the Angel is getting closer.
Toss and turn as hot sweat runs like rivers tonight.
The Devil is laughing all too much.
At the corner of the bed, a man stands.
The candlelight blaze fears his name.
A gust of wind opens the door and the Angel is in.
Still, the nails rust  in the brain.
Barron of the Night learns this cancer is not for him.
“Man of Darkness,” the Angel roars,
“Slip away for this soul has been judged.”
A sneaky look and a squeaky growl
He shows the Angel the black aura, the deathbag.
“Silly fool, this coward belongs in the depths of fire.
Take your wings and fly for you have no business in what’s myne.”
The candlelight fades and the wind howls.
The toss and turns silence, the sweat stops running.
The Angel and the Barron sit quite still.
“This man has no soul, he is Evil’s child.”
They both back away as blackness forms.
Pain is born, a battlefield in the mind.