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The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

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Posted

For those who've read the story I posted the other day, The Last Step, this is a poetic retelling of it that I wrote before I wrote the prosaic version. For those who haven't... Well... Why not? ;)

 

Angel of Death

 

Blue skies, white daisies, a beautiful day.

Breezes blow lightly, young birds spread their wings.

Amid all this beauty, too dark to be gray,

A healer corrupted by sorrow now sings.

 

He sings of the wonder of horrible pain,

he snaps threads of life with a jerk.

Tears flow from his eyes in a bounteous rain

as his foes flee to shadows to lurk.

 

The tears cease to flow as a fiery rage

locks his anguish and sorrow and soul in a cage

deep in Hell's darkest temples, deep down in his head.

And then, on the inside, the Healer was dead.

 

He struck without mercy, he struck without fear,

he killed all, regardless of cost.

He slew those he saw, whether far off or near.

In a day, all the city was lost.

 

Blue skies could be seen on this beautiful day,

the sun shone from heaven above.

The song of a sparrow, too sad to be gay,

Told the tale of a soul lost for love.

 

And the Angel of Death left a city that night,

Where a child, once living, lay clutching a kite.

Posted

Wow, this is really well written. It tells a story and also invokes a feeling. The ending is sad and the reader (me, sorry, IB English presses on saying "the reader") is left feeling sadness. Very vivid imgery as well. Thank you for writing this!

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