Writing 201: Day 7

Day 7: Neighbourhood, Ballad, Assonance

The house next door, the house ahead, each turned tomb as the horde made their greatly announced approach

The honour clad soldiers, in the face of fear reduced as paper to the flame, as heartless creatures slayed them in jest

Timbers blackened and the reek of burned flesh, innocents run scared to the place they had once fled

A decrepit hut at streets end, a structure ugly with every overgrown vine and pealing thread

    “So a town turns to hopeless broken, whomever lives there a man that with mercy I will cut”

Bellows the villain with the chants of an army to enforce his confidence heavy threat

The beast of a man was grand in gold, a sight to cower the crowd that ran in fear to the door of death

What remains of a door opened

Black clad, thin, ill and dressed for no respectable event

He sees disrespect, the wretch at the hordes head stood on a grave of the women he called wife

A town levelled, lifeless humans strewn and spread, still he refused to act

In isolation each departed was a friend already lost

Gold and grand, a sword boldly decorated and forebodingly raised

But with one hand, a wrists subtle flick, the stranger reveals his tricks

Engulfed in shades of resentful rage, his cold dead orbs screamed limitless hell

The false king fell

Black clad figure upon the corpse in a bloody flash

    “You the people I will not save, my care hath drenched its life in demonic pits”

The town folk frozen in petrified stare, a huddled mass of stinking fear

    “This false king however, evoked my wrath, taking fatal step on such that single sacred dirt patch”

The horde recklessly charged forth and met a frightful wall of shadows, a barrier of chilling touch

Each to make mortal contact, now a pile of dust

A hand raised high summoned something more from behind the weapon wielding damned

Each ember of buildings ruined now cold, the heat ascended to shape a grotesque portrayal of the heroes true self

    “long since has my hate been sated with such gratifying displays of melting flesh”

Such a thing to pass for a smile crept in ways only nightmares could positively respect

Eyes hollow as the horde did plead and from their fate did try to escape

The hero engulfed in vengeful fervour, flames consuming every one of those disrespecting specks

    “Beware whom you insult, when fallen gods hath claimed the very land on which you tread”

Raining orbs of ice, jagged and rough, each as sized as the houses now reduced to broken wood

Onto any barbarous soul in range, all to be seen to be left was a mess

Strong enough that fear became more than a feeling, cemented in seething hate as the town folk watched

For the survivors, a ruined settlement is all was left

The shabby hut intact, a shrine to unholy forces as back into his sorrow, retreated the fallen god

A god only named by his victims, every vicious twisted curse that final breathe could voice


3 thoughts on “Writing 201: Day 7

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