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.Discipline -> RE: The Poet Tree (11/14/2011 21:55:46)
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Of Fears Forgotten
"I fear that your gift has been snatched far too swift,
As the black light beams down on the moors.
The problem was born in the eye of the storm,
And you have not yet closed every door."
So the old man slunk back with a gleam in his eye,
And a limp hobbled step with his cane,
For the corpse we detest has not been put to rest,
So in time it would rise once again.
A noise came from the bowels, one that shrieked far too foul,
With words I shall dare not repeat,
As our ills, and our foes, and our hatred arose,
And stood back on the black shadowed peat.
We sharpened our blades as we waited for days,
Till the time when the negative hit,
The light fades from the moors as we ready, of course,
For the last dark beacon to be lit.
I advise you, my son, as our work has begun,
That you hold this medallion dear,
For the day soon will end and the night will descend,
On the bountiful feast of your fear.
We struck him down once but it was not enough,
As the remnants of martyrdom fade,
But the ground is still patched where his evil once hatched,
And a mark where the bodies once laid.
And so it must be, that the townsfolk must flee,
Far away from the place they called home,
As our foe doth return, with new lessons we learn,
And new evils beginning to roam.
"But what of our lambs, will they fall to his fangs?"
My youngest boy asked in his fright,
But there came an alarm, the town calling to arms,
All the men who were able to fight.
The old man stood up high, yelling into the skies,
"We must gather and fight for our skins,
For on cowards he feeds, on our fears and misdeeds,
And only the bravest shall win."
"You expect us to brawl, like the heroes he mauled?"
A tailor with drab clothes asked aloud.
"He will tear us to shreds, shallow graves as our beds!"
Which caused quite the unrest in the crowd.
But the light all went out, not a whisper or shout,
Was heard as the scourge slowly rose,
And the rabble of noise, from the men and young boys,
Was drawn to a gasp and a close.
Each man held tight his sword, as the black demon roared,
And the warriors fell one by one,
Until but a small child, one so timid and mild,
Held his dead father's medallion.
"I fear not the dark, for I hold up the mark,
Of the bravery deep in our heart!
On this very hour, you will witness the power,
Which shall finally rip you apart!"
The fight then began, and the innocent ran,
As the dark seemed to wither and writhe,
So the deep shadows peeled, the result was revealed;
Neither beast nor the boy left alive.
There was no grand parade for the hero which slayed,
The old evils which darkened the fen.
And to this very day, they have kept far away,
But the beast might come back once again.
Though the brave men that fought, have been whittled to naught,
And no tome has recorded his ploy,
I still give him my love, as I smile from above,
And remember that he was my boy...
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