Well, did I say I was going to try my hands on horror-themed Christmas poetry or not? This is the first of my Thirteen Days of Christmas (13 being the evil number). It looks through the eyes of a psychotic killer who sees himself as one of Herod's soldiers who were sent on the killing spree during the search for Christ. There are 12 more dark verses for Christmas. Stay close to me and not one of us will be lost in this journey through the darkest night of the season.
The coldness stung; the night was dreary.
The wind played songs; the skies showed nary
Rip the wombs wide open, spare no swords;
Flood the streets of 'Salem with a curse.
Search the sewers, wash your feet in blood.
If any mother resists thee, put her to the sword.
Herod the Terrible has spoken
Get The City smokin' n tokin'
To the slaughter of the Only Begotten
Herod will be lord or nothin'
The coldness stung; the night was dreary.
The wind played songs; the skies showed nary
A cosmic stud; moonlight was tardy.
From Rachel's womb; the tide flowed steady.
This ain't no Sesame Street I'm playin',
I came to dig for all that's breathing.
If he's two, a fetus or still toddling
I'll slit his throat till warm blood starts gurgling.
Hang 'em with their umbilical cords;
Bash 'em against the rocks.
Write their dust-to-dust before they're born
Wet your sword with baby blood.
The coldness stung; the night was dreary.
The wind played songs; the skies showed nary
A cosmic stud; moonlight was tardy.
From Rachel's womb; the tide flowed steady.
I'll do them one at a time, gangland style.
Two to the head and watch them die
Slow while infant blood flows half a mile.
I hear mothers curse but I'll let it slide.
I got an arsenal of dynamites
To initialize strange delights.
I'll free 'em from their plights,
Kill 'em off when they're in my sights.
The coldness stung; the night was dreary.
The wind played songs; the skies showed nary
Akpan
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment
Feedbacks welcome and appreciated.