Fresh in ideas, old in years
Been there for millenniums
Feeding on people’s fears
Lurks in the dark, brooding

With a haunting excitement
Watching your every movement
Overshadowed by your arrogance
One feeble move,
He strikes with impatience

At times he strikes at will
He has no specific tastes
As long as breath resides inside
He gladly robs you of it

Some say he’s Azrael a fallen angel
Whilst some say he’s the guardian of grief
I pause a bit….and question
WHY THE DUD? WHO IS AZRAEL?