The Good Dementor

Cloaked bodies of obsidian shadow,
Clawed arrows, their dark oddity fallow.
Chillingly equipped, thy soul is at risk,
Fears are ignited with the Dementor’s Kiss.

But under one’s hood there’s a different tale,
Behold! A trifle glow that is free from avail.
A burning credence, destined for glory,
This silhouette is far from enormity.

Watching softly, breathing benign and slow,
The dark Dementor asks not for sorrow.
Instead, he prayed for an ardour so strong;
He only sunk. Oh! Where has yonder light gone?