Standing next to fate,

Holding hands with life,

Connected by only a finger,

Her gaze on my battered and cracked slate,

A victim to deaths wife, 

Fear invading my heart as as if by a stinger, 

Dressed as small child,

Disguised as the sinless,

But I see through the deceit,  

Pushed from warmth; exiled,

Her hate and wrath endless,

Knowing no bounds her conceit, 

A hunt for flesh, 

She holds the world of my children,

I pray she knows mercy.