Wrackful Hand Of Death

One night a pianist meets a strange man, who offers him magical gloves to play like Mozart. In return, he is compelled to kill, and in the end, to forsake his dream for fame, for his sanity.

I
'Twas a dreary and steady e'entide of rain,
Whence, my unsettling nightmare began ere,
Undermining my lost will and thoughts bain,
Swathing an unwant'd murk that was my fere.
II
Hitherto, that awful night, I cannot truly forget,
For 'tis still looming fresh within my laden mind,
As I dread the feeze of the forthcoming sunset, 
And the fiendish hand that no one has yet to find.
 III
I was aforetime a struggling unknown pianist,
That had been shunn'd, by the snappish carpers, 
Who play'd the lofty halls of London's shortlist, 
And frolick'd ninefold, amidst the wont'd clappers.
IV
Upon that bleak night, I met the devilish one nigh,
Dress'd in all dark black, with a coat and a top hat,
When he stepp'd down from his victoria with a sigh, 
And within his arms, he held a cunning Cheshire cat.
V 
I had cross'd the whole street seeking the dry shelter, 
From the clumsy downpour that left me a thick puddle, 
Where my drench'd feet would e'enmore then welter, 
Amidst those cold blowing winds that quickly fuddle.
VI
"Come hither old boy, there is no need to be too blate," 
He said staring straight at me from where he had stood, 
And he gave me some leather gloves, as I heard his prate,
"Take them as a onefold gift, for they are indeed good."
VII
"Do I know you sir?" I ask'd him as I had mammer'd,   
"Call me, Mr. Whitmore old chap, for that would be nice,
"Since many of my dear thralls, have not yet yammer'd,
Hark, the following words, for I shall not say them twice."
VIII
"The gloves shall make thee play amazingly like Mozart,
And thy fingers, shall bring thee therefore great wonders,
O'er thy brash foes of this world and e'ery unfeeling braggart,
For they shall flounder mightily, those worthless bounders!"
IX
"What do you bloody mean by what you say?" I had frain'd,
He chuckl'd before he said afterward, "Do not fret my boy, 
For soon, those who belittl'd thee before, shall be drain'd, 
And they shall seek to thwart thee with sleights and ploy.
X
"What do you want? What must I give to you for this gift?"
I ask'd him as he look'd into the depth of my eyes at once,
As the thundering pound'd, with lightning through the rift,
"I only want thee my boy, to bring me souls for the nonce!"
XI
I was dumbfound'd, "Are you telling me, that I must kill?"
He put the cat on the ground, as he look'd at his watch,
"O 'tis late, and I must go now, for I thrive within the thrill,
And there are henceforth, a lot of unwary souls to snatch!"
XII
But before he rode off into the stark darkness of the night,
He said to me, "Do what I say, and blest shall be thy meed,
As the wretch'd fiends, shall be doom'd in their own fright,
And if thou shalt want, beware of whims of a dastardly deed!"
XIII 
The last thing I heard, were the gleaming wheels spinning,
As he went into the night of the rain and the yemeless blore,
Whilst, I had thought wildly about his unbelievable grinning,
And the unsightly pool of those unbearable drops of gore.
XIV
Thereafter I had taken those leather gloves with me not knowing,
That this e'erlasting and evil nightmare had only begun in earnest,
And from within a billowing need to know the truth was growing, 
E'en if, the unfolding plight of my death seem'd to be the sternest.
XV
When I had raught my home, I hasten'd to put on the gloves at last,
And play'd the piano once again, as I was foretold by the uncanny man,
Better than the playing of Mozart and of Beethoven comely and so fast,
Until that sway of my wonderful and blazing fingers and hands blan.
XVI
Shortly, I began to play and fill those lofty halls of London at fortnight,
From Canterbury Hall then Wilton's, and afterwards onto Middlesex, 
Where I became well known throughout the streets of the midnight,
And I had raught the winsome and fain ears of those wealthy in Essex.
XVII 
But yet, I was thrav'd to roam the underground of the nightlife as well,
Seeking the helpless souls for the devil himself like those drasty rats,
And time after time, I had kill'd to quell his untimely thirst and smell,
Above the dangling roofs of the East End beside the sundry foul bats.
XVIII
I forsook my life to the o'erlord of the souls of the dead and fordone,
Where the ghastly hand had wield'd daily, my will and my strength,
As the shameful sins of unyielding slaughter could not be undone, 
And I gloat'd in my wonder and the manifold followers I had at length.
XIX 
But I had unbethought and became too tir'd of my longing for blood,
That I sought to rid myself of the wayward hand that steer'd my mind,
Where I had to hide my guise beneath the swarthiness of my hood,
As I fraist'd forthwith, to have my murdering hand stopp'd in a bind.
XX    
 I did what was deem'd by the sackless ones tenfold, as the unthinkable,
I cut off the wrackful hand of death, the reaper of my dreadful sins seen,
Whilst I had fought strongly in the end to o'ercome the unforgettable,
That had grown afterwards into this unstoppable and dretching teen.
XXI
And the days and nights of madness I shall have to forbear,
As I rot within the fiery halls and walls of this dungeon of hell,
With the wails out loud of the thousand of dead I cannot o'erbear,
And deaf and teeming, are my endless screams I shall fore'er yell!