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PKreturns
Member

since 2003-07-21

Posts 362
New Orleans, LA

0 posted 2004-07-01 01:00 PM

In the German lands of falling snows
There today where no one goes
Nestled there the holy village Brocken
I myself, a lad of only ten
The winds blew cold down the mountain
Foretelling news of someone’s coming
A savior, a most respected priest
From Promised Land, south and east
This new pastor, Reverend James,
With two silent monks he came
Young, dignified, with a gleam in his eye
He made all well with a spell of his smile
How intently did we listen so
To him as gentle as the falling snow
To behold with eyes as they glazed
And question not what we praised
The next four months became unreal
Like a thief our souls to steal
And not one among us aware
Sitting still with same empty stare
Those who spoke up soon to die
With that lost look in their eyes
Looking, but no one sees
Lonely town falls to its knees
And by the light of the moon
Can’t even feel our pending doom
In my dreams figures twist my mind
Controlling me and distorting time
But how we didn’t understand
The coldness of his offered hand
That hidden something in his smile
Wanton darkness and wicked guile
This is where I find myself on the Eve
Of Christ’s Day to take my leave
Warm and comfortable in my bed
Restless though, I am led
Something draws me to show
To look out my frozen window
In night’s gloom I see a fire
Far away, distant red spire
Without thought, nor long the while
I make the lonely trek through the lonely mile
Through thick snow and ancient trees
I make my way to stop and see
A huge unearthly fire and the monks
Two silent bowing lumps
Then, their heads up and stared
As mine follows into darkened air
Something comes flying down
With wings and a foul crown
It is James; with daggers for hands
Softly into the fire he lands
Naked, bestial as he truly was
Overwhelmed by awe, into sleep I fell
Awakened later from this spell
My vision finally unblurred
By beholding the demon-bird
It is night: below, Brocken starts mass
For them, this night is their last
I rush fast and blind
My enemy is now time
For as I make the village square
Everyone, the whole town is there
With knives all on high
Black holes in his golden eyes
Then I race headlong down
Only to fall, face into the frigid ground
His monks see the attack
Pin me inches from his wretched back
But my fingers have life of their own
Reaches out and grabs evil’s cloak
And before the knives could fall
Down comes cloak exposing all
Wings outstretch, to the air they take
For everyone the spell begins to break
Hands burning, turns to laugh
Mouth spills blood of innocent calf
Smiles as the flames sear his flesh
The pain is still only just fresh
Melting his face, screaming in rage
Crying out with voices from every age
Peeling the skin from his eyes
According to plan – watch him die
As three mounds of ashes burn
What have we learned?

Marge Tindal