Shadowed

Midnight stars blotted out
by the swish of colossal wings.
A black shadow snatches their light
as it glides above the grounds,
hooves flailing in silent gallop.
Knobbly knees bend in the rhythm
of flight, and the skeletal figure
glares around blindly.

White eyes, uncovered by the lack
of a mane, stare eerily, reflecting
the full moons' glow. They do not
blink, never, no lids adorn
their luminous glance.

Feathery limbs, borrowed from birds,
may only be seen by those cursed
to behold the Grim Reaper's show.
Hard flanks heaving, sunken
stomachs can be touched by any
daring enough to approach.

A secret to some, normality
to others, they echo
loss and grief. Ebony
heads turn away, speeding;
the Thestrals vanish gradually
into the pastel horizon.