Holy Killers of the faith
Descendants of times long ago
Rape the minds of a weakened soul.
Filling the mind with a poisoned wraith.
Templars and Visionaries armed with Light
Enter this war with true vision to indict
Swinging the axe is a Templar Knight
Striking a Holy Killer before it's first bite.
With a flash of Light and an ascending Vapor
The Holy Killer no longer a mind raper
Subtle his business be, no more caper
The Visionaries job now, be a mind scraper
Bringing back a hosts weakened mind
Body and soul soon re-aligned
Mental acuity of host now defined
All manners of host fully entwined
Holy Killers of the Faith descend into dark.
Casting bait for their new unsuspecting marke
Templars stand ready for the time to embark
While Visionaries stand ready as a true Patriarch.
A Holy War of long ago
Fought now Incognito
Holy Killers still try to Reign
Templars and Visionaries still too Remain
About the Creator
Matthew Mikituk
I have addictions, that drives my creativity. Coffee is definately is my current addiction. If you find anything amusing, appalling, upsetting or insightful, that was my goal. Tipping me a coffee truly does go a long way.
Keep reading
More stories from Matthew Mikituk and writers in Poets and other communities.
Clinging to Childhood
The playground is empty, as it should be past sundown. There is a warm breeze, and I can see everything despite the late hour. What time is it, anyway? It could very well be past midnight. I can never keep track of time, especially in the summer. A prickly piece of popcorn hides like a stowaway in the left cup of my padded training bra. I stuffed the tissue in last minute— a decision I’m beginning to regret, based on the events that are unfolding rapidly before me. To my left, laying non-chalantly on his back, is my date for the evening. He is two years older, could probably grow facial hair if he wanted to, and drives a secondhand Honda. He may as well be a Man. I, on the other hand, feel like a fraud with my too-short short-shorts, sparkly lip gloss, and makeshift push-up bra. I keep my arms pinned to my sides as I feel the dreaded circles of sweat beginning to manifest on my brand new Abercrombie top. I cup my elbows with my hands and stare down at my hint of cleavage, praying that the tissue doesn’t pop out like a white flag surrendouring my lack of womanhood.
By Marti Maley7 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.