Saturday, 27 June 2015

Possession, Defilement and Birth

In vain, the priest attempts to exorcise
He struggles hard to cease the demon’s rise
His prayers prove to be of no avail
She's almost sure they will completely fail

Contorting limbs, in pain and immense fear
From one of those alluring eyes, a tear
Cannot control the one inside no more
Without a pause she screams, so sick and sore

The wretched spawn is crawling right within
Her aching throbbing belly weak and thin
Some spikes are seen already tearing flesh
She feels each one just like a dagger's slash

With blisters-covered skin, expelling pus
There is no true escape from all this fuss
Entirely drenched in sweat, in piss and tears
Atrophied head rotates, her judgement nears

Amidst the blackened blood, now flowing out
Applying strength, ignoring cry or shout
Exuding putrid smells, an horror-born
Keeps screeching out as if destroyer’s horn

Creative Commons License
Possession, Defilement and Birth by João Massada is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Tuesday, 16 June 2015

The Promise Of Hell

There he falls to his knees
Stung by a thousand bees
Close to his dying wife
Slowly draining of life

“No! This cannot take place!
Right here in my embrace,
My beloved soon dead!
Oh Lord, take me instead!”

“Cease all the liquid flow
And shine thy holy glow
Gently upon her spirit
She’s almost at her limit!”

From out of smoke and fire
Appears a spectre liar
To bring a twisted deal
That only blood may seal

“But what explains thy presence!?
To carry out her sentence!?
Wert thou sent by my lord!?
I’ll strike thee with my sword!”

His blade is raised but stilled
The eyelids as if peeled
Limbs paralyzed in terror
‘Twas that an awful error!?

‘Tis the odd spectre’s hold
On his form now so cold
Approaching the young girl
His words, start to unfurl:

“Of her I shall take care
If only wouldst thou dare
To grant to my possesion
Assets, for my collection”

“For riddles I care not!
Of those I’ve heard a lot!
What could someone like thee
Do now, to set her free!?”

Raising arms high above
It starts to cure his love
Making it seem so true
But stopping half-way through

“Thou art a seraph, right?
Please, bless her with thy light!
Please, what desirest thee?
Take anything from me!”

“To make her again whole
Requires thy own soul
It will suffice to mend
The wounds of a dear friend”

“Well, If it must be so
As I won’t let her go
My essence may fill hers
Seems like that she concurs”

Their fate was swiftly sealed
Turns out she was not healed
Both meant for hell’s inclusion
‘Twas all just an illusion

Creative Commons License
The Promise of Death by João Massada is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.