The Man who Wore All Black

There was a man who wore all black.
He wore black pants, a black shirt
Black socks, shoes, and a hat.
He dyed his hair black
And his eyes were cloaked in shadow.
But his face was pale--
Gaunt, bony, and white.

The man went on an afternoon stroll
He walked through the local park.
He wore all his blacks
And paid no attention to the daylight.
But the daylight paid attention to him.

He walked in broad daylight,
The vampyric heat leeching his strength
He stumbled
He continued onwards without a thought.

The man took of his black hat
And wiped his brow with a black sleeve.
The wind ceased blowing
And the sun gazed on with its relentless eye.
Each step was labored
Every breath a burden
Thoughts flurried
And crimson stained his pale skin.

The man trudged through the afternoon,
Hellhounds nipping his ankles.
He stumbled
He fell
He died and was made anew--
The dreaded heat had not touched his soul.

There was a man who wore all black--
There was such a man no longer.
For the man, having learned his lesson,
Now wore only the purest of whites.