A.W. Nutter
For years the witches have gathered
Secluded, in a forested den of iniquity
How many people have they butchered
Practicing their satanic rites of insanity
Open fields surround the plateau
It will be hard to approach undetected
The going will be arduous, and slow
The witches believe they're protected
The moon always seems to be full
A shadow, my only friend this night
I step over the warning ring of skulls
Easing toward their campfires light
I see four hags have selected a child
Busily branding his pale white skin
Odor of burning flesh, senses defiled
The boy screams out, my legs weaken
Pulling my broadsword free of its sheath
Slipping quietly behind the four witches
Barely feeling the sharp bite of its teeth
Just reward for practicing their fetishes
Standing beside the child, I view the brands
The number 666, adorns his petite frame
Could this be the boy spoken of in legends
Born of Jackal's, heir to Satan's domain
Gazing into his eyes, lost in his darkness
Aware I've saved the stealer of souls
I will not be a part of this evil madness
Raising my sword, another head must roll
YOU ARE READING
Jackal's Son
General FictionJackal's son is a fictional write about the coming of the beast. Prophesied about in Revelations. The poem tells of his discovery and destruction. Hope you enjoy this fictional write.