The Being

The silly young boy all alone in his bed
decided to get up and go
his mother went out for some delicious trout
if he went anywhere, she wouldn't know.

It was late at night, the stars were bare
laid out far as one could see
He opened the door to the shabby and poor
village surrounded by trees.

He strode along the damp dirt path
that led to the house of his friend
he planned this meeting on a random and fleeting
idea in which he would tend.

The boy always resented this walk through the night
as his imagination went wild
shadows of pines and clinging vines
became monsters not tame nor mild.

A chill breeze blew through the boy's soft hair
as he walked in the pitch black of night
a snap of a branch as he neared an old ranch
caused the boy to jump with fright.

The boy stopped moving, petrified from fear
as he waited for death to arrive
the snap of the twig had been a startled pig
that ran from the boy, still alive.

Relief spread throughout the boy's frail heart
as the tendrils of fear lost their grip
the boy walked on and began a song
to liven up his dark trip.

One being in the forest heard his singing
and crept closer for further review
The boy was alone like a widowed crone
and perfectly within its view.

The boy was singing, "What joy, what wonder!
These days filled with pleasure and daint!
The townsfolk dance in their marvelous pants
and nobody would tire to faint!

The festival which nobody omits
is alive with people a-dancin'!
The music blares out and the people shout
in joy as they go a-prancin'."

The being figured this boy would not do
and decided to have some fun
it began to chant a horrible rant
that would make the boy's heart run.

The being sang, "What joy, what wonder!
This night filled with screams of death.
The townsfolk lay dead with worms in their head
their shouts using their last breath."

The boy hadn't expected this horrid duet
that mocked his lively tune
he started to flee but could not see
even with the light of the moon.

"The festival which nobody omits
is littered with bodies a-squirming!
The music has died and the children cried
for their brains were fully a-worming!"

The boy tripped on a root he never saw
and fell to the ground with a thud
he felt dry hands like the desert sands
smearing his face in the mud.

The boy couldn't breathe as he inhaled the muck
and tried to struggle in vain
the hand pressed firm as the boy tried to squirm
but he couldn't handle the pain.

The being grew joyful as the boy grew still
for it knew it could now begin the feast
it began to dine on the small boy's spine
and wasted not in the least.

The morning after, the boy returned
to his mother, worried and scared
she hugged and tried not to scold or cry
as the boy's story was shared.

The being waited until that night
pretending to be the boy
the mother was asleep and the being could not keep
its eyes from glittering with joy.

At the end of the week, some travelers arrived
intending to buy some supplies
they looked around without a sound
at the village that met its demise.