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He keeps a new bible on his dilapidated night stand,
It is opened to Psalm Twenty Three.
His hand trembles, as he places his spectacles next to the bible.
The night is cold and his heart is heavy and slow.
His thoughts are cluttered by the guilt of his past deeds.
For he thought that it was all over, buried in the past.
He is one of the last of the evil Reich.
Where he was death, utter destruction, the Devil Incarnate!
Tonight, in this cold and dusty room,
the images of those he tortured invade his heart.
It was long ago, his crimes would go unpunished until now.
Tonight, ghostly apparitions will seek him out
Alone, destitute and frail, he lays sickly in his frigid bed,
not knowing whether he will make it through the night.
On the ceiling, he sees the images of those he killed.
Specters hover above his head, taunting and pointing at him.
Broken men, battered women and molested children,
stand in front of his death bed.
They are ghostly images roaming aimlessly;
in and out of his chamber.
He recognizes their faces;
their names flash in front of him,
their pain burnt across his forehead.
He can smell the charring flesh;
he can see the horror across their faces.
A gust of wind hurls through the open window, rattling his senses.
The bible resting idly on the night stand; crashes to the floor.
Startled and afraid, the man cringes and gasps for air.
Thousands of rotting corpses collectively reach to him, breaking through an unseen veil.
Wide-eyed, but he cannot see.
Mouth agape, but he cannot speak.
His mouth is shut by a ghastly hand.
His first murder has come forward,
he has returned to swallow his breath.
The old man cannot move.
His heart palpitates to the rhythm of the cricket’s eerie song.
Spirits beat on him; they curse him for all eternity.
He can smell their rotting flesh.
A smell of gas has filled the room.
That horrible gas that choked so many,
now permeates through his nostrils.
The room has grown still.
The souls standing in the room hold their breath.
His eyes are closed now,
closed for ever,
never to see the light of day
Or the darkness of night.
A rustling of pages is heard.
The bible, resting on the night stand again
is closed for ever,
as are the eyes and conscience of a once powerful and fearful devil!
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