Spike Marshall
02-21-2006, 08:34 PM
She could hear the hounds a howling on their heels,
Desperate to catch and tear their next few meals.
The midnight black was pressing against her face,
As she and her son speed in their fatal race.
The Lord’s man, how cruel he had been, gave hasty pursuit,
He found find them no matter the route.
The man, loyal to that wicked soul, would hound them to their bloody end,
And with his hunters knife his flesh he would rend.
She had sought solace in the domain of her lover past,
Now she knew that act would be her last.
He looked upon the child for a second before ordering its demise,
His anger and hatred welling for a son he could only despise.
Vowing to protect her son,
The mother urged him to let them run.
The thrill of the hunt flashed across his eyes,
A look of murderous fury on a face once so kind and wise.
Cursing his kingdom for their soon to be spilled blood,
The mother and child made for the dark and dreary wood.
The forest so twisted and sharp offered no salvation,
The horn of the huntsman’s crew offering only certain damnation.
They ran as fast as the could,
Through the dark and hollow wood,
Through the swamps of mud,
Crashing along the canopy with a dull thud,
From the dogs a flood,
With the writhing urge to shed their blood.
They were not fast enough to outpace the huntsman,
The pursuit ending where once canaries had sang.
Now there was nothing in this desolate land,
A place once so light and grand.
Now a hovel of dust and charred sand,
She begged the huntsman offered her hand.
He smiled serenely and demanded the boys,
A rage overtook the mother, once so coy.
She launched at the huntsman running across the ravaged glade,
Only to find herself impaled on his serrated blade.
She fell backwards the cruel weapon rending her insides,
As he removed the dagger he joked, they’d both join the rest of his hides.
She begged and pleaded to spare the boys life,
But the huntsman seemed destined for cruelty with his vicious knife.
Spurred on the mothers cries he took the boy in his gloved paw,
And with the knife, his wrist he did saw.
He cut the hand clean off,
The boys cry surprisingly soft.
He threw the severed limb at the mother with a smile,
As he drew a rapier from his hip with hideous style.
The blade slipped between the ribs with the easiest of slips,
Before the husband kissed the mother on her cold dead lips.
He turned to the boy to end the work for that night,
But found his quarry to have vanished from sight.
His confidence soon dripped and ebbed away,
When his hunting dogs would do naught but lay.
For that night the boy would escape,
To live a life without a joke or jape.
He would seek blood for the wrongs committed,
While the huntsman reported to the lord with reports omitted.
In sevens years time the huntsman his victims he would rejoin,
As he was split from his gullet to his groin.
Desperate to catch and tear their next few meals.
The midnight black was pressing against her face,
As she and her son speed in their fatal race.
The Lord’s man, how cruel he had been, gave hasty pursuit,
He found find them no matter the route.
The man, loyal to that wicked soul, would hound them to their bloody end,
And with his hunters knife his flesh he would rend.
She had sought solace in the domain of her lover past,
Now she knew that act would be her last.
He looked upon the child for a second before ordering its demise,
His anger and hatred welling for a son he could only despise.
Vowing to protect her son,
The mother urged him to let them run.
The thrill of the hunt flashed across his eyes,
A look of murderous fury on a face once so kind and wise.
Cursing his kingdom for their soon to be spilled blood,
The mother and child made for the dark and dreary wood.
The forest so twisted and sharp offered no salvation,
The horn of the huntsman’s crew offering only certain damnation.
They ran as fast as the could,
Through the dark and hollow wood,
Through the swamps of mud,
Crashing along the canopy with a dull thud,
From the dogs a flood,
With the writhing urge to shed their blood.
They were not fast enough to outpace the huntsman,
The pursuit ending where once canaries had sang.
Now there was nothing in this desolate land,
A place once so light and grand.
Now a hovel of dust and charred sand,
She begged the huntsman offered her hand.
He smiled serenely and demanded the boys,
A rage overtook the mother, once so coy.
She launched at the huntsman running across the ravaged glade,
Only to find herself impaled on his serrated blade.
She fell backwards the cruel weapon rending her insides,
As he removed the dagger he joked, they’d both join the rest of his hides.
She begged and pleaded to spare the boys life,
But the huntsman seemed destined for cruelty with his vicious knife.
Spurred on the mothers cries he took the boy in his gloved paw,
And with the knife, his wrist he did saw.
He cut the hand clean off,
The boys cry surprisingly soft.
He threw the severed limb at the mother with a smile,
As he drew a rapier from his hip with hideous style.
The blade slipped between the ribs with the easiest of slips,
Before the husband kissed the mother on her cold dead lips.
He turned to the boy to end the work for that night,
But found his quarry to have vanished from sight.
His confidence soon dripped and ebbed away,
When his hunting dogs would do naught but lay.
For that night the boy would escape,
To live a life without a joke or jape.
He would seek blood for the wrongs committed,
While the huntsman reported to the lord with reports omitted.
In sevens years time the huntsman his victims he would rejoin,
As he was split from his gullet to his groin.