He sits without purpose, while the shadow approaches, as if He were already dead.
The Darkness surrounds Him, envelops Him, drowns Him, filling his body with lead.
Yet He sits unmoving. Does nothing to stop Them. And pushes His thoughts from His Head.
He sees in the Darkness Gargoyles and Goblins, reveling in the Shadow.
His solace is near, just inches away, a Candle to cancel His fear.
Yet still He sits, enveloped with Dread.
For it's hard to light a Candle, Easy to curse the Dark instead.