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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Dark · #1957406
He'll do what must be done.
Keep the fire burning straight on through the night
stoke the embers high, son
don't be afraid to sweat
There's a dark place o'er yonder
and through the black pines
we will tread
But your daddy walks beside you,
you remember what I said

Yes, daddy. At first light we'll go
and I ain't a little boy no more, papa,
I'll walk right beside you
To that dark place o'er yonder,
blacker than the soldier pines
and mama's currant jam
I know you walk beside me,
I'm brave, papa. I am.

You're a fine boy, son. A man could 'nary be so lucky,
the finest son we made.
Your mama...she'd be proud.
She up in that dark place o'er yonder,
some nights I see her through the trees.
And I cry and shake and moan and quake,
I go down unto my knees.
Pray mercy, lord on high and heaven send me strength
I loved her so. More now than 'er I ever will.
So, son let's sleep tonight...

and pray for a righteous kill.


No man knows how silence is as alive as he,
until it chokes him, blinds him, buries him—silence
Is woe to hope, every beating heart beware
Fear and fury pulsing in the stillness of the air,
How the passing seconds blackly whisper
as you stammer out a prayer

The flint and tinder dry as stone, yet you cannot strike a spark
and you'll fumble for it blindly as something gibbers in the dark
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