Poem, No. 4: Horned Devil
In a new poem, our EIC writes about the town’s confederate cemetery.
Welcome to Poetry, a series highlighting my own work as an amateur poet. All poems and other pieces were originally published on my Patreon page.
On a humid day last summer, I took a stroll up to the Confederate Cemetery. I find the whole ritual to be gross, but the mass grave perches a top an otherwise serene ridge overlooking town (Lewisburg, West Virginia). I took a seat in the grass, letting the blades stab into my leg, and this piece fell off my pen.
Horned Devil
You horned devil. Trapping the damned with your iron-wrought armor. How dare you
absolve these men of their betrayal against
man kind.
Out, out, you fool and destroyer of our
faith. Rot in the underground, you shall.
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The cross through which glory comes, a
common grave of dirt and bone, you sour and
poison with your thorny words of race and
time. May the seeds you’ve sown stab your
throat and bleed you dry, forevermore.
Hawks weep at noon. The sun god dances on
your remains, a spool of golden yarn that
stretches for miles around that yonder hill,
and you, thou deceiver, have cursed the plot
that seals your afterlife from dawn to dusk.
Your pain will not liberate you. It will obliterate you.
Hallelujah.
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