Eating flesh from points of knives,
Demons stalk and seek our lives.
Seeming love to maidens fair,
Til there are no maidens there.
Fair of hair and eye and form,
Triple lightning in a storm.
Here. the gods of wood and stone,
prayed to with a crack of bone,
wake and answer.
Soon arrive.
Finding no one here alive,
take the sword out once again,
in the labyrinth of the glen.
Cackles sizzle up my spine,
Moon now clouded will not shine.
Footsteps running, running fast.
Looking at the shadows cast,
flying over, pushing down.
No, I will not make the town.
Teeth now puncture.
Sharp nails tear.
Graveyard smells lace floral air.
In the garden, I grow still,
Cold and stiff, no life, no will.
Red blood, gelid, cold, and hard.
Torn apart, a living shard.
Now death whispers, Now you’re mine.
Once again, the pale moon shine
takes the cloud mask off to see
broken spirit, finally free.
BlackQuill 