The Creature from The Marshes

Deep in the bowels of a bog,

Suffocated by slime,

Something stirs beneath rotten log,

Crawling up with claws of grime

Shocked from time,

Rotten scales slough off in motion,

The creature reeks of rot and rime,

Glowing eyes peering with devil’s devotion

Head raised high despite hunched back,

Rasping lungs suck in rancid breath,

Creature once tortured by rack,

It now seeks true death

Slumped over it follows the trail,

Up the rise of the hill,

To a hidden dale,

Where village does rest in minute detail

Muzzle belches a fetid cloud,

Townspeople hear the groan,

A fog rolls down from all around,

Chilling the living to the bone

It marches steadily,

Pace undisturbed,

Rotting legs sloughing readily,

The beast not least perturbed

Emerging from mists in mid stride,

A woman shrieks,

A child cried,

For the monster wheezed and creaked

“To arms!” One man shouted,

Several young bucks proud,

But against the dead they are quickly routed,

Blood pooling on the ground

The creature chewed thoughtfully,

It had to consider,

Could it dilly-dally,

And finish it’s impromptu dinner

The village rallied,

Men lit torches,

The fog pushed in and buried,

The lights are but muted corpses,

Flickering flames smothered in fog,

Led to cries of pain of misery and dismay,

As the men of the village reached their epilogue,

The creature twisted and tore those who went astray

Finally there were but four,

All stalwart men so brave

Each clutching their own claymore,

As the creature sent the rest of the villagers to the grave

It emerged from the mists,

Emaciated frame bloodied and red,

Corded muscle of dragon and lion it consists,

With the muzzle of a copperhead

Each man charged the creature dripping with gore,

Bringing two-handed blades into play,

Each swing to settle the score,

Each strike a black-blooded display

The beast did stumble almost drunkenly,

Claws heavy and belly stuffed,

The bodies half-eaten from the killing spree,

The fighting left the creature roughed

One man declared,

“Your death will come at our hands!”

The creature glared,

Dead-set against being sent back to the marshlands

Spreading arms wide with stomach distended,

“Tis death I seek men of the valley!”

The creature boasted,

Before charging forward rather beastly

It’s end, I must admit

Met by raised blade and valor

Was rather quick

The fight over in a blur

Standing over the twice-dead corpse,

The men argued to decide,

The four holding court,

The body split so they could hide

As a last resort

And so the creature settled to earth,

It’s body severed and hidden away,

Raging spirit ready for rebirth,

For when it’s body is reassembled another day

Author's Note: Spent the afternoon concocting this tale, for better or worse, while at the acupuncturist being made into a living voodoo doll. Was inspired by A.F. Stewart and her new book Horror Haiku's and Other Poetry, which can be found here on any e-reader!

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