The Waltzer’s Eternal Masquerade

Down the dark and dreary paths of town

Waltzers move without a sound

Their bodies so tidy; clothes so straight

What could they be doing out so late?

The befuddled townsfolk pondered this

And took steps toward the dark abyss.

As the Waltzers continued their timely dance,

More villagers soon advanced

The Waltzers bore masks of odd hue

And acted as though this were their debut;

An act choreographed with the greatest of care

Flakes of snow seemed to Waltz through the air

Seeing such merriment, some stood still,

Admiring the Waltzer’s swiftness and skill.

Others waited for the dance to be done

Not wanting to interrupt the fun

But a glint of metal quickly flashed!

A villager fell bloody with a crash

But the Waltzer’s movements Never faltered

Never slowed and Never altered

Sanguine Snow

On the cobblestone

A limp body landed

With neither a scream nor moan

No one paid notice

And none seemed concerned

The enticing Waltz

Had the populace charmed

The dark, cloaked Waltzers

Seemed endlessly numbered

Their souls appeared empty

Completely plundered

Then within moments

The slain man rose!

He appeared the same

Save for the stains on his clothes

His gaunt expression

Twisted; contorting in place

Seeming as though a mask

Had replaced his face

Shadows of townsfolk merged

With the shadows of blades

They had not a moment

To evade

Mothers, Fathers, Whole families fell dead

Bodies twitched back to life while others bled

As the night went on, so did the Waltzers

Continuing on until all were slaughtered

Pools of blood lined shadowy streets

Humanity and mercy had utterly ceased

Muscles and skin opened up like curtains

Revealing their delicate bones and organs

But despite death and misery

All who joined the Waltz felt free

They’re bodies were painless and faces plain

Feeling joy knowing they’d always remain

For the Waltzers are unholy things

Answering to neither Gods nor Kings

Merely dancing their way from town to city

Gladly eviscerating those they pity

And taking them in as fellow assassins

Slicing the innocent without compassion

Beneath their guises they are sorrowed and cold

Living forever, but growing so Old…