I could feel the darkening night,
About me looming.
I could feel the moonless sky,
Looking down upon me smirking.
And as if a spark ignited
I remembered a tale;
A tale of demon
And valleys and vales
Blighted.
And a thought struck me
Like an arrow piercing the heart.
Could fate be so cruel,
Could it snip the thread of my life
So early.
But I pulled myself together.
There were no demons here tonight,
Aside from my own,
Lurking in my fears.
So I pushed my steed forward, with strength anew.
Like a disheartened lion
At the first sight of prey.
Ah, I was naive
For fate, it seemed
Was laughing down at me.
For upon the side
Of that accursed road
Was a chasm deep and wide.
And near the edge stood
A girl in an auburn hood.
this sight held me
By pity, great.
For this little girl of eight,
Seemed to be quite lost.
I called down to her
"Las! Be you in need of help,
Upon this darkened night."
"Why sir, it would be lovely,
indeed."
And not once did I think
What could be her business,
Out in the open
Upon such a night.
Thus, I helped her up
Thinking myself high,
For fate could not be against
When I had helped someone in need.
"Where Be your home, lass"
I asked with a happy heart.
"Just at the next town, kind sir"
She replied in a voice
As lovely as of an angel's.
Before long, a voice reached the ear.
And I stopped my horse,
To better hear
What could make such a sound,
On one such as this
Unfortunate night.
Dreading the worst
I turned my head
And so to my surprise, I saw
A perfect pair of legs
Being dragged behind my steed.
What scared me the most were its feet
For these abominable parts
It seemed, were backward.
I now turned my head to my partner.
To whom were leading:
Those abominable feet.
But instead of seeing
A child of eight
I saw a demon of the night.
My fears from those tales
Had come to life.
So I took my sword
To cleave her head
And took to the night
Never to see that road,
AGAIN.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
This was my first ever work so it may not be as good but I hope you like it.
I'm open to criticism and correction of any mistakes I made so please tell me so.
YOURS TRULY,
CHANGING-TIME
YOU ARE READING
UN SUNG
Poetry*And he looked upon these shackles With pain-filled eyes Yet he did not move a finger. As they led me to die. A story is a way to tell the tales of the past. A way to put into words the life of another. It has been the way of people to pass do...
