All that was seen was the repugnance
That glazed eyes in fearful perception.
As its flesh divided with each scream it released,
But the beast was only generated
Of misunderstood beauty.
"His story is such,
"My mother often said I was beautiful,
"My horns the beauty of nights hidden wonders,
"Be kind unto other misunderstandings,
"I was only five when the flood happened,
"When pink fleshy things landed upon ancient shores,
Mother told me of their coming; we were gentle folk
But they never heeded our response, in frightful
Horror they took Altars life. Burned him in
Thoughtless fear of misunderstood word.
Abomination
Bane
Beasts
Is what they called us. We learned fast as
We were of longer years. Centuries were
Are play ground, but we all birthed once in
Red moons fall. One was the sibling of most births.
"Pink rats, we nicknamed these things on wood,
That floated on our home and breed uncontrolled.
"The flood it was called,
I screamed as flesh stretched, as teeth gnawed
Tears burned on my cheeks as
She lay before my eyes.
Mother
"Mother,
"Mummy,
Was the last words I spoke of her.
No warning the pink skins had gathered
In their fear of our beauty, they all
Looked the same.
"I hate you things,
"Where we see beauty in all things,
"Songs older than your skins were sung,
"Now are stories die with each extinguished word,
Time in their definition had past, but in ours only
A generation if we can call what is left.
We called on our gods but we were unheard.
"I cried myself to sleep in the younger years,
"I now scream at the moons light,
"Mother of nights illumination,
Our gentle persuasion was our failing,
But no more. We took many, didn't discriminate
Of age, we took many to the falling,
To the resting of a souls keep.
But like rats they flourished in our absence.
"We are beasts,
"We have become what was seen,
"In their immature eyes,
"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
My mother said these words moments before her
Passing
Falling
Death
Was what happened before my youthful eyes.
"I wish you saw the man I had become,
"Horns bled onyx light,
But now most of the time I stain them
In crimson breath,
I no longer scream.
I leave that to the rats satisfied upon my
Serrated endings,
Horns nourished in blood.
"I was beautiful once,
But now that is gone there is only anger
For those of few years birthed.
I will carve stories into their memoires,
Of the beast that hunted them
To the end of their breath.
I bled each on her mother earth, and she drank.
I am still here in the hidden places,
A legend in word.
"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
"I still see some beauty in the world,
I still watch you, heed my words.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 12:44 PM UTC
All that was seen was the repugnance
That glazed eyes in fearful perception.
As its flesh divided with each scream it released,
But the beast was only generated
Of misunderstood beauty.
"His story is such,
"My mother often said I was beautiful,
"My horns the beauty of nights hidden wonders,
"Be kind unto other misunderstandings,
"I was only five when the flood happened,
"When pink fleshy things landed upon ancient shores,
Mother told me of their coming; we were gentle folk
But they never heeded our response, in frightful
Horror they took Altars life. Burned him in
Thoughtless fear of misunderstood word.
Abomination
Bane
Beasts
Is what they called us. We learned fast as
We were of longer years. Centuries were
Are play ground, but we all birthed once in
Red moons fall. One was the sibling of most births.
"Pink rats, we nicknamed these things on wood,
That floated on our home and breed uncontrolled.
"The flood it was called,
I screamed as flesh stretched, as teeth gnawed
Tears burned on my cheeks as
She lay before my eyes.
Mother
"Mother,
"Mummy,
Was the last words I spoke of her.
No warning the pink skins had gathered
In their fear of our beauty, they all
Looked the same.
"I hate you things,
"Where we see beauty in all things,
"Songs older than your skins were sung,
"Now are stories die with each extinguished word,
Time in their definition had past, but in ours only
A generation if we can call what is left.
We called on our gods but we were unheard.
"I cried myself to sleep in the younger years,
"I now scream at the moons light,
"Mother of nights illumination,
Our gentle persuasion was our failing,
But no more. We took many, didn't discriminate
Of age, we took many to the falling,
To the resting of a souls keep.
But like rats they flourished in our absence.
"We are beasts,
"We have become what was seen,
"In their immature eyes,
"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
My mother said these words moments before her
Passing
Falling
Death
Was what happened before my youthful eyes.
"I wish you saw the man I had become,
"Horns bled onyx light,
But now most of the time I stain them
In crimson breath,
I no longer scream.
I leave that to the rats satisfied upon my
Serrated endings,
Horns nourished in blood.
"I was beautiful once,
But now that is gone there is only anger
For those of few years birthed.
I will carve stories into their memoires,
Of the beast that hunted them
To the end of their breath.
I bled each on her mother earth, and she drank.
I am still here in the hidden places,
A legend in word.
"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
"I still see some beauty in the world,
I still watch you, heed my words.
