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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Tragedy · #1372476
A tale about a murdered girl who loved the forest, and how Mother Nature took her revenge.
Clenched becomes loosened, lacking fight.
Breath that paused will hitch no more.
The band of death has cinched up tight,
The dogs that whine will hunt tonight-
Sniffing out her pores.

She is still now in her dreadful pose,
This delicate beauty now rests.
Dumped among the thistle, a rose-
Her heartache seeps, beneath her grows
Vengeance at its best.

She was earths child and lovingly tended
To the soil and plants she was devout.
The ground now weeps at her end,
Her body embraced, the vines do bend
Around her and about.

They gently pull their sister deep
Into the denseness soaked with blood.
It grows quiet while the forest sleeps
When morning comes a figure creeps
Up through the mud.

Rise of the punisher, born of the moon,
Limbs made of dirt, leaves and wood.
Instilled with darkness while cocooned
To kill the killer and roughly strewn,
His evil out for good.

The woods are silent, the air chilly
Every creature stands frozen in place.
Mother’s anger is frightening to see,
So rare it is, there’s a shake as the trees
Bow to the power of Her Grace.

Twitching it stands, revealing an eye
Filled with animus it looks to the crows.
They lead it to the man, through the sky
Carried on the wind, his terrified cries
Cross the land for miles they blow.

To where a single, fragile flower grows.

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