Casanova

He stalks restlessly in still of night,
 A raven warns echoes of contrite.
 He comes on wing ashen as bone,
 Silence is grave, sharp as stone.
 
Preying on ones with morals intact,
 Disregarding souls with virtues lacked.
 Happily-ever-after promised in vain,
 Bloodred sheets blush virgin stain.
 
Absconding in the dead of night,
 Prices paid in the morning light.
 Pure hearts with naiveté plain,
 Love is sought so easy to obtain.
 
Oh how effortless it is to steal,
 A lover's virtue maiden seal.
 Teardrops trickle at reality so stark,
 Branding a soul with jaded mark.
 
Deflowering a prize, then toss it away,
 Sundry naive, another prey.
 Hungry is he, never satisfied,
 Apathy felt for the clueless bride.
 
A harden heart, callously shown,
 Unable to retain a love of his own.
 Wicked is a soul with no insight,
 Of all that stalks in still of night.