You place a finger to my lips
To signify some change;
The wind outside the building shifts,
The curtains rearrange.
Questioning I glance at you:
Your eyes take in the problem
And deem that something is askew,
From top until the bottom.
And then they strike! the serpents
Who guarded tombs of old
Had sneakéd through the curtain
And crept across the floor.
We dash up to the rooftop
But this is in the desert;
Our path of flight, it must stop
That we may end this hurt.
You draw your saber, slowly
All others they gather round
Ev'ry wedding guest holding
To their host's every word
You tell them of the valor
That awaits a man alive
And that it's your desire
That everyone survive.
They arm themselves, bravely
And descend through the floor
To the storey down below me
And shutter the trapdoor.
The plan is simple: find one
And **** the serpent dead
As soon as youve slain it,
Deliver here its head.
The many serpents saw us
And, hissing, took their aim
But not a one escaped us
For our leader, host, the same
He led them without falter
Guiding without doubt
And when the last was severed
We gave a triumphant shout.
The feast continued, slowly
Just as it was before
But none thought little of the man
Who secured their lives once more.
Sometimes I write stories. Usually if they're poem form they stink. But I thought this was better than most attempts in the past. Wedding party in the Sahara gets attacked by a group of snakes, probably magical, and one man gives them the courage to fight. I have no idea where that came from. Probably too much TV ;D
