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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1503092-Daemons
Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Horror/Scary · #1503092
So you think you're tough? Pehaps a dark salvation can be found in church.
Darkly, tendrils of mist grasp at the night
weaving a blanket that covers all light.
Yet even the blackness cannot consume
the shimmering spires that rise through the gloom.

An area of town that is well past it prime,
it is known less for beauty now than for its crime.
Tall stands the cathedral, rising out of the blight.
It’s door standing open, a promise of light.

Into this hope comes a villainous soul.
Through violence and death, he has taken control
of the cowering victims, the stores on the street,
and he thinks with this conquest, his dominion complete.

Moving from shadow, he boldly walks to the door.
At this late hour, his steps ring on the floor
and hollowly echo off the ceiling far above…
a stirring of wings…  maybe pigeons or doves?

He walks to the altar and writes out his claim.
With a can of spray paint he writes words profane
then he adds his mark, his own personal brand
that will tell everyone that this is HIS land.

As he steps back to admire he looks up at the cross
and a laugh leaves his lips as he says “I’m the boss!
You may have the weak fooled with your fairy tales
but to me your just plaster secured by three nails!”

“This place is now mine and I don’t like to share.”
Now filled with dark rage, he picks up a chair
but as he goes to swing it, he feels himself rise
as dark grey hands grab him, he’s locked in a vise.

Deformed visages leering as if from a dream,
cruelly shaped mouths with teeth that seemed to gleam,
obscenely shaped bodied, more chiseled than grown,
these were his captors as he felt himself flown.

His voice was forgotten, no cry could he make,
his brain couldn’t comprehend for sanity’s sake
but he felt his soul weeping in torrents of loss
as he was carried to the dark side of the cross.

Talons ripped at his clothing until he was denuded
then he was impaled on the nails that protruded.
Cruelly they ripped through his hands and his feet
as he hung there in a parody, now finally complete.

The black side of the cross now began to revive
as his blood was absorbed, it was almost alive
and he felt himself changing, from skin and bone
as he was slowly devoured and turned into stone….

Dawn on a new day, the sun bright in the sky,
“Something looks different” said one passer by.
“I’m sure it’s just light and shadows and such”

Cold eyes watch a kingdom they can no longer touch….
© Copyright 2008 🌕 HuntersMoon (huntersmoon at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1503092-Daemons