A tale about a murdered girl who loved the forest, and how Mother Nature took her revenge. |
Clenched becomes loosened, lacking fight. Breath that paused will hitch no more. The band of death has cinched up tight, The dogs that whine will hunt tonight- Sniffing out her pores. She is still now in her dreadful pose, This delicate beauty now rests. Dumped among the thistle, a rose- Her heartache seeps, beneath her grows Vengeance at its best. She was earths child and lovingly tended To the soil and plants she was devout. The ground now weeps at her end, Her body embraced, the vines do bend Around her and about. They gently pull their sister deep Into the denseness soaked with blood. It grows quiet while the forest sleeps When morning comes a figure creeps Up through the mud. Rise of the punisher, born of the moon, Limbs made of dirt, leaves and wood. Instilled with darkness while cocooned To kill the killer and roughly strewn, His evil out for good. The woods are silent, the air chilly Every creature stands frozen in place. Mother’s anger is frightening to see, So rare it is, there’s a shake as the trees Bow to the power of Her Grace. Twitching it stands, revealing an eye Filled with animus it looks to the crows. They lead it to the man, through the sky Carried on the wind, his terrified cries Cross the land for miles they blow. To where a single, fragile flower grows. |