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This is like a sister poem to Beautiful Disaster

The Collecters

It is we who bring them,
To that awful beast.
We collect those young and beautiful,
For their bodies he feasts.

We are the collecters,
Just shadows in the dark.
Waiting to catching them,
For him to leave his mark.

Our movements cold and wicked,
They will never see us coming.
But I always make a noise,
Just to see them running.

One day I will leave this work,
Because my heart still weeps.
But for now I will chase them,
For it is we who creep.

Not them best but here is the first

Beautiful Disaster

Beautiful disaster,
Fearful lonesome thing.
Terrifying master,
Controls all things we bring. (Hence 'The Collectors')

Mistreated disaster,
Crying before sleep.
Unloving master,
Ruling those who weep.

Of all of things alive,
Who live unloved.
We neither thrive,
Unlike those above.

Bring forth your feelings,
And sweetly sigh.
Spread your wings,
Those who can fly.