Through the window of the church
she watched the village sleep.
Every night a souldive search
into the darkest deep.

Thoughts of men who'd touched her
but never wanted more,
and all the womens gazes lure
into her deepest core.

So Abelene set out on a killing crusade
in the name of Jesus the Lord.
A psychotic knife with a cutsharp blade
and a restless soul assured.

Lusty hands got lost, cut off
never to degrade again.
A blooddrenched village in the rough
of a vengeful womans den.

She blindfolded all the women
then slit their throats in half.
And so her mind was even,
exhale and a peaceful laugh.

Abelene never faced conviction.
She was never to be seen no more.
She left with an addiction.
She had finally found her cure.

Poetry by Daybreaker
Read 558 times
Written on 2010-02-06 at 16:22

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Kind of interesting to put such a tale to rhyme. It's no more grim than Grimm's fairy tales, and we read those to our children at bedtime.

Although, fairy tales are meant to be morality tales. What the moral of Little Red Riding Hood or Hansel and Gretel might be I don't know—

Don't wear red? Always carry bread?

Kathy Lockhart The PoetBay support member heart!
great macbre storytelling. This drew me right in and watched her as she peered out the window. I saw her vengence unfold. Nice work. I bookmarked it.

jenks The PoetBay support member heart!
Do let me know where she's not!
I enjoyed this in a perverse way :)