Murderous, barbaric monsters,
Ruthless demons they were, for sure,
Burning sticks of metal, hungry
ropes to torture, they would conjure.
Blood as thin as water flowed,
their horrendous acts still on,
Red hot coal, cradling guillotines,
The captives cursing, why they're born.
Satan's sons brandished their guns,
their bloody knives and daggers.
The children, men and women shaking
in shadows of criminal braggers.
The captain of Satan's army said,
"These are useless slaves for sale,
Their bodies too weak for labour,
If we trade them, we will fail."
The others shouted, "Yes, Our Lord!
We trafficked them for gold, yes!
But they no longer benefit us,
for their existence is utter mess."
"Get me the sturdiest girl we own,
She shall be useful for flesh trade;
if not that, she shall be employed
in the Mayor's household as Maid.
Bring me a man with healthy kidneys,
I was offered much gold for one;
Take him, feed him like a slaughter cow,
lock him up, so he doesn't escape or run.
Fetch me the child who looks starved,
Make him look like he's dying,
I'll send him to that wealthy town,
where he'll beg for alms, pitifully crying."
Just as he ended this sentence,
their cabin shelter erupted with flames;
A young girl, fierce and bold,
Had ended forever, their Devilish Dirty Games.
Satan's sons embraced hell,
for that is where they truly belong.
This is a horrific yet meaningful story to tell,
For us, humans to learn to be alert and strong.
YOU ARE READING
A Warrior's Songs
Poetry"I believe that Poetry is the aesthetic act; that poetry is not the poem, for the poem may be nothing more than a series of symbols. Poetry, I believe, is the poetic act that takes place when the poet writes it, when the reader reads it, and it alwa...
