Tuesday, October 9, 2012

For the A.F Canyon Poetry Fire

The children gather in the canyon to read from the book of their mind
deep secrets, harsh precepts flow as they turn the minds spine
as darkness grows and inhibitions flee, the subjects to macabre and morose
til the book they read from, isn't from one of the assembled living hosts

but the story escapes from their mouths open gaped as a tale is spun out of the chill
of a pioneer saint, who sure a saint aint, who retreated to this place right here
and hatched a plan, to steal the bishops land, by marrying his daughter Karyanne
and murder her family, with wrath of a banshee, he's captured in old Ir'land

The bishop did come, along with a son, to discuss the impending betrothal
the fire did his, in the dark nights abyss, as the man waited hiding with shovel
It's wasn't that long, til the sound of a gong, came from the mans implement
the bishop did fall, and full of dark gall, he turn to the sole remaining heir

But the son wasn't dumb, choked out the dark one, and rand to his father's pointless aide,
but this saint of a son, when the father was done, choaked back the anger and tears,
and bound up the dark man, with a filed master plan, and took him intown for a trial

the darkman was perturbed, for when in the dark he stood, the banshee left him all alone,
but the banshee was free, and between you and me, still flys through this canyon of bones

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