She was his queen,
his black and white,
the reason and the bane
of his existence.

He followed her,
admired her,
caressed her in his mind,
haunted her until
he caught her
in his finely woven web.

His obsession suffocated her,
he loved her to death.
And he raged, he raged,
fuming, fussing and foaming
like the tormented sea
against the dying of her light.

But the tranquil waves
of thoughtlessness
calmly carried her away.

And she would not go
gentle into that good night.
She haunted him from the grave,
immortal in his love, his obsession.

At night he would see
her waxen face glistening
in the pallor of the moonlight.
He would hear
her ashen lips whisper
sweet nothings in his ear.

His mortal mind succumbed
under this immortal pressure
and his obsessive love
could claim yet another life.


*Inspired by Dylan Thomas' Do not go gentle into that good night*