The Return of the One: A Poem From the Darkened Tales Series

The Return of the One

In shallow graves lay withered bones

that once had walked with strength in life

but sharpened knives and broader swords

took breath with Death upon his scythe 

And stones were placed upon the mound

as heathen crowds would gather still

the clans would pray for her return

as winds blew forth a deathly chill

Delores watched from high and far

as songs were sung and blood was splayed

the throats were cut in sacrifice

whilst bodies thrived upon the stage

The Jackal pawed the sacred earth

and sniffed the lust that rode the air

the scarecrow smirked and felt his blade

and knew that life would not be spared

As mist would sweep across the ground

and hide the surge of man and beast

who flashed their teeth in maddened rage

and gorged upon a blood fuelled feast

Delores cried and felt the pain

as clans would strike and show no fear

tonight they died in spite of death

amongst the graves of yesteryear

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The Return of the One is the latest poem in the Darkened Tales Series.

I also share this with One Shot Wednesday, part of One Stop Poetry, a great platform for poets to meet, share, learn and embrace, which starts 10pm Tuesday night and remains open for submissions all day Wednesday

image courtesy creative commons flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/martinb/

The Lykewake Of Morag: A Poem By Pete Marshall

The Lykewake Of Morag: 

A Poem By Pete Marshall

The crows would circle high above

As death would waken on the ground

A hand would stretch and flick its claws

To trap the prey that swooped on down.

As feathers fell on sodden earth

And float as boats upon the breeze

Bones would crunch and blood would splay

That fed the Scarecrows dark disease.

The haar would creep along the links

As song was heard beyond the hill

The tabor marked the lykewake start

As clans would bow and mourn their still.

Upon the beach the waves would crash

And curse and spit their maddened angst

The mortcloth lay across her soul

As friends would come and offer thanks.

Through wynd and vennel souls would part

As spirits fled the darkened streets

The Scarecrow watched in silent thought

Whilst winds would blow through mans deceit.

And dirks were drawn at Morag’s hame

As Chiefs would curse their spoken vow

Blades would clash and wounds were deep 

But one remained to tell this tale…….

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This is my poem for One Shot Wednesday, run by One Stop Poetry, a fast growing community for poets & writers of all genres to share their work, express and make friends

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Image courtesy creative commons flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/artbel/