I found his threats to be...insubstantial...
seeing as how his spectre floated white two feet above the ground,
looking for all like an oversized octopus.

Yet, what he lacked in substance,
he more than made up for in spirit.

Some may say the blade of his wit was dulled(an overdose of death will
do that to you),
but I like to think he was just biding his time,
until, like the proverbial dream, he'd go out
in a puff of smoke.

So I stared into his eyes(gazing actually at the string
holding the figure upright),
and willed him to move.

And, when - how many aeons later? -
he came towards me,
arms outstreched,
I laughed and leapt for joy,
for the string had finally snapped.

Penned by my hand on the 15th of Aeguary, in the year 360 AF.