Poetry

The Skeleton Man

They came from behind a rain of fire and four-pointed steel.
Marched and brandished their stone-sharpened blades.
Brought the end of hope as the sun wept and bowed to the night,
boots stained in mud and merciless victory ordered by their generals:

One of creatureous eyes and the sting of a whip.
Another with a hook for a hand and iron jaw to match.
The warrior from the water with scales like armor.
The soldier of three eyes and not a soul behind them.

And a witch of such ferocious beauty,
her victims mesmerized as stone statues,
she whispered those venomous enchantments
with a satisfying intimacy.

And through the fog of war
entered a purple beast of graceful feral,
atop perched a rider wrought with a darker essence,
heart as black as the voids where his eyes should be,

cursed by a gray skull
to forever wear a gray skull

A skeleton man.
A skeleton man.
A skeleton man.
A skeleton man.

Abomination of abominations.
A grim product of the unnatural
waging war for the unnatural
until his plague becomes master of all:

Master of bodies
Master of minds
Master of souls
Master of devilry

Master of planets
Master of stars
Master of galaxies
Master of the universe

One thought on “The Skeleton Man

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