The Midnight Man

He stalks, he can leap,

He never talks, not a peep,

He is known as the midnight creep,

Is he good or is he bad,

Is he happy or is he sad,

Saying not a word, none has ever heard,

He is a crusader in a cape at night,

As gentle as a ninja but always ready to fight,

Hiding and striding in the midnight moon,

So quiet so gentle, as light as a spoon,

Moving round the globe, from docks to dunes,

Super speed as fast as an ocean harpoon,

He’s going to come to you soon,

He has a fight with the light, never seen except at night,

The shadow of the sun he is,

With a knife and a rope,

So hard to cope, knowing there is a bandit on the loose,

Running but not free, never to shout with glee,

Being chased likes a wild goose,

Being shot dead like a fat moose,

You cannot run, you cannot hide,

This black warrior at your side,

A bandit, a slayer, what kind of man,

He fights alone, without even a gang,

Where is he from, maybe a clan, no, he flies solo,

 He’s the midnight man.

Remeber to see my other poems.