[Read author notes before reading poem]
She rested once ‘neath fresh-cleaned down duvets,
Before her life became that living hell.
A victim of a warlock’s lying ways,
She seemed entrapped, transformed by evil spell.
In woods that howl and shriek at midnight’s strike,
Where haunting specters swirl in fiendish mists,
She huddles ‘midst the thorns and prowling shrike,
Beside a path of holes and fatal twists.
She fled the manor house in aimless drift,
‘midst howling of the hounds behind locked doors.
The rapier thrust of sword a gruesome gift,
From apparition’s hand from whence it soars.
At last to hide in fear and thicket’s lure,
While fleeing from the fears that haunt her mind -
Will she, this maid, high born and virgin pure,
When twisted by her world so oft maligned,
Become a nymph of maliced midnight wood?
Who would have dreamed this lovely maiden could?
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Who would have dreamed this lovely maiden could
Become a nymph of maliced midnight wood?
When twisted by her world so oft maligned,
Will she, this maid, high-born and virgin pure,
While fleeing from the fears that haunt her mind -
At last to hide in fear and thicket’s lure.
From apparition’s hand from whence it soars,
The rapier thrust of sword a gruesome gift.
‘midst howling of the hounds behind locked doors
She fled the manor house in aimless drift.
Beside a path of holes and fatal twists,
She huddles ‘midst the thorns and prowling shrike,
Where haunting specters swirl in fiendish mists,
In woods that howl and shriek at midnight’s strike.
She seemed entrapped, transformed by evil spell,
A victim of a warlock’s lying ways.
Before her life became that living hell,
She rested once ‘neath fresh-cleaned down duvets.
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