Hals Skribblez
:) Poetry

  • The Peppermint Man
  • The Fairy Lord
  • The Birth
  • Posterity
  • Absolutely True Autobiography
  • Socks
  • Zombies
  • The Frog Princess
  • Fruity Narcissus
  • Asdf Jkl;
  • Teenage Mutant Duckie

  • The Fairy Lord

    October 8th, 2008

    Bejeweled, an ornate diadem adorns his fleshy crown.
    The lecherous libertine aches, trapped in passionate thirst
    As slowly he reclines bathed by rich, silken evening gowns.
    O! The gluttonous opulence of poor a fae lord cursed!
    The carrion dryads whispered kismet songs
    An aeon of fortnights erstwhile
    Which chained to his spirit appetite lifelong
    And called fourth upon him blubberous boils
    On otherwise a handsome visage, be it but aged and worn;
    Otherwise a halo'd creature of strange nobility born.

    His brood ought've returned ere aurora,
    Mulls the most famished, stately fiend.
    No waif should resist such lovely auras
    Of wicked magic, lest one intervened.
    The unsatisfied fae lord yearns for children, apt is fate
    for dryad-cursed elfkin, so nightly unleashed he swarm'd,
    Dark-twisted fairies to capture with craft his estate.
    Anon may then he his requisite slaughter perform,
    Ere the youth to his voracious defilement succumb
    With a Daedalian will and want; she is his pabulum.

    "Oft of late return they not while I writhe and want and rot!
    Dare others interfere with those alone my tears've reared?"
    The livid lord damns the creatures mint, which foil his plot
    To abscond each incessant brat with blighted dreams so feared.
    His nature thwarted, he's left with one recourse --
    Summon more minions upon pain's own embrace.
    A dirk he produces with careful remorse
    and prepares himself his own flesh to disgrace.
    Greasy lips dance 'roundabout dark songs' queer'st quivering words;
    While clenching his sad blade, the fiend's vitality thus is spurred.

    Crack! Fae sprites new bourne of penumbra's void,
    Chanting lullabies, encircle their lord.
    On the morrow's gloom they'll be fast deployed,
    And the mortal world will suffer his horde.
    Fatigued, he reclines again in his rich, silken robes;
    Twilight surely will find to end the Fae Lord's hunger
    When innocence his appetite can defile and probe.
    At twilight, once again, the libertine will plunder.
    Bejeweled, an ornate diadem adorns his fleshy crown.
    For naught but enduring desire is this fiend renown.
    :) Fiction

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