dVerse Poets asks us for a fairy tale today. ‘Happily ever after’ I do not do very well. So how about a tale with fairies in it? A revision of an older piece that was originally done as an experiment in prose poetry; still thinking it fits that form better. See what you think.
In The Mists
The pixies, sprites and nymphs made
their way cautiously through the forest.
The mist were thick and clinging,
like pushing through diaphanous spider webs.
The full moon above the canopy provided little light,
the dark being protective of its domain.
They enter the clearing as the mists diminish,
pausing to survey the scene of carnage,
the air rank with the smell of rage and death.
Three hulking corpses were steaming on the ground,
wolf-like, savage; none being touched by the moonlight
leaking through the trees, as if they were repelled by it,
even in death.
On his knees at the edge of the clearing,
illuminated by a rapidly failing glow was
the victor of this mayhem and summoner of the fairies;
man-like, but larger, gore stained white sword in his hand.
He was gravely wounded with gashes across his chest,
savage bites on each arm, one wing bent and broken;
the other curled protectively around the naked
infant cradled in his left arm.
The fairies move closer to fulfill their call and
take possession of the child, who begins to
wake and squirm as the glow fades and the
last of the Angel’s blood falls upon its chest.