Voldemort

He can work from behind curtains,
He can lurk in the shadows,
He whispers your heart's darkest desires
Till the strings of your conscience give in to satan's bow.
Yet he also takes the centre stage,
And acts a markedly important part.
And every time he hits bullseye ,
With his malicious, poisoned dart.
"There is no good,
  There is no evil;
  Only power
  And those too weak to achieve it".
Beware , if you stand ,
In the way of  his majesty's darkness.
It has to be him, who is most important.
Everyone else, is naturally less.
An artist of the dark arts,
He has the weakness of one too.
Like all poets, like all musicians,
His work must be seen by the rest of the world too.
There are no strings to attach him,
No hinderful bonds to flay.
For never has he given the slightest thought
To the other actors in the play.
He knows much,
But not enough.
He is a black swan,
Sculpted from the rough.
At the end of the day,
One must pity him;
Because, nor did he ever give love to anyone,
Nor was love ever received by him.