Late was the hour when
the once-young man awoke
to the sound of
smothered laughters and flapping wings
a full night of gin, pale sweat and fire's crackle escaped from mind
Late was the hour when
the not-so young man felt
a chill down his neck
as were it the whisper of a child
Late was the hour when
the no-longer young man saw
the raven velvet black
sitting upon the broken frame of the once-young man's family portrait
its lifeless eyes peering back at him, gazing his very soul
Late was the hour when
the not-so young man rose
to drive the black spirit off
as it took flight atop a golden curtain rod
ever watching the man no longer young
embracing the portrait the last remnant memory
of those whose lives he'd stolen
Late was the hour when
the once-innocent man watched
in horror the picture crumble
the once-vibrant faces fading to blackness
dissolving softly upon the dusty, sorrow-ridden floor
Many a year it was as
the not-so innocent man fell
and the raven velvet black
vanished as whence it came