The Howl in the Wind

Along a stone path, an old man did walk,
He smiled as his heart spoke to him so:
"You made it in life," as they came to a fork,
"It doesnt matter which way you go."

He figured as much, and chose to go right,
A distant church silently calling.
And as he approached, away ran the light,
Sun gone - the dark suddenly falling.

Amongst the soft ground, three spirits did rise,
Their loathing was worn like a scar.
"I'm just an old man!" they heard him cry,
They shot back "Oh we know who you are."

The first rasped at him, "You slit my poor throat,
My limp body was dumped in a box.
On top you had stuck, a personal note:
'I had fun.' signed the Killer of Knox."

Before he could speak, the second piped up,
"I had a rough hole cut in my cheek.
You then drank my blood, it had filled your cup -
I was found floating along Lonely Creek."

The last ghost just stared, through white bridal veil,
"I was ready to marry you when,
The poison took hold, my skin ghastly pale,
And as I fell you whispered 'Amen.'

The memories came back, Its too much to take,
The man thought as he started to run.
Straight to the church, his last stand he'd make,
His fear moving him like he was young.

The cellar was open, 'twas the end of the chase,
And he shut the two doors with relief.
The dead could not come, to this holy place,
Or so he had grown up to believe.

With a loud metal click, the outer bolt locked,
He turned frantically belting the wood.
Slipping through cracks, the eerie Ghosts mocked,
"Old man you are misunderstood."

Three spoke together, as one full of grace,
"Do you know what awaits after life?
An amazing joy - is flying through space,
While learning the secrets of time."

The man was relieved, "Please do me quick,
I'd lived oh so many years now.
Waiting and waiting, to give life the flick.
To be kind my release you'd allow."

"But that is our point, there is no end for you,
The Killer who called himself clever.
Cos good spirits go, to the limitless blue,
But evil suffer this life forever."

He cried out in pain, "No this cannot be!
My frail bones ache like hell all the time."
Whipering back they said nonchalantly:
"This is the toll you'll for your crime."

They drifted away, he crawled in the dark,
His soft hands and knees starting to bleed.
His sad cries for help, an uneven bark,
No-one would miss this malevolent weed.


***


To this very day, put an ear to the wind,
And you'll catch a soft tortured cry.
For under a Church, is he who has sinned,
The Killer of Knox is waiting to die.

Inspired by a dream.