Yesterday, I posted a short story of under 200 words with an interest in perhaps altering it. This has come to pass. I am typically not of a mind for poetry. I’ve nothing against poetry, it just usually isn’t one of the formats I keep in my writer’s kit. Poetry is something I leave to people who have it in their soul, but this just seemed to fit in a dark Gorey way.
So, here it is. Make of it what you will. Hopefully, I haven’t embarrassed myself too badly.
They killed our parents, and we played our parts
Into the system, we hardened our hearts
We shed hidden tears, held hands in the act
They killed our parents, so we sealed a pact
My sis was fourteen, myself only nine
We learned to blend in, make crowds into kine
Escaped to the street, we plied a new trade
Lies, nimble fingers, and quickness with blade
They killed our parents, we never forgot
Uncovered their secrets, for which they weren’t caught
We stayed in the shadows, tracking their ways
They killed our parents, we numbered their days
We learned what they were, long teeth and ill will
They gave not a thought to the folks that they killed
We got close to wait, kept still in the night
Until such a day would bring on our fight.
They killed our parents, so we skinned them alive
They couldn’t repel us, though they struggled and strived
A stake through the heart, and a rough severed head
They killed our parents, and now they were dead
But what we heard then, so plaintive and faint
Their monstrous children, wan, pale and drained
We’d learned a hard lesson, and took it down fast
These devil spawned children would be the last