The day eight Poetic Asides prompt was for a ‘Paranormal’ poem. This one is my first attempt at a prose poem; a form I am still not sure I fully understand.
In The MistsThe forest mists were thick and clinging, like pushing through diaphanous spiderwebs. The underbrush grabs at ankles and leaves stinging scratches and punctures in shins. The full moon over the canopy barely penetrates, darkness being possessive of its domain. Entering into the clearing as the mist clears and reveals a scene of quiet carnage. Puddles of moonlight litter the ground, the air rank with smells of fear, rage and death. Figures of three immense creatures, wolf-like, savage, dead, lay steaming on the clearing floor; none being reached by light, as if repelled by it even in death. Collapsed against a tree at the edge of the scene, bathed in a faint light, the victor of this mayhem; man-like, but larger, still holding it’s gore- stained white sword. Gravely wounded, gashes across chest, arms and brow; one wing hanging decimated as the other attempts to conceal the naked infant cradled in his left arm. The sleeping child begins to squirm, preparing itself to wake and wail, as the light fades and blood from the dying Angel drips softly upon its chest.
© Mark Windham 2011