Last Thoughts of the Creature Golem

Comments (0) Issue 5, Poetry, Writing

By Mark Desrosiers

Precious
Precious
The Precious is ours
 
We took it from his finger
After we bites it off
The blood was warm and nasty
Not like cold fish
      So juicy sweat!
 
The precious is ours
The detestable golden ring
Is light in our palm
As our heart is at
            having it.
 
He grabs at us
No… at the precious
He wants it
for himself
But we mustn’t let
             Him have it
 
We wrestle and grab with him
On the ledge
Above the lake of
Doom
 
We hold on tight
to the precious
Our hand in a fist
As he pushes and
We fall
 
We will be fine
As long as we have
The precious
We think as we fall
 
To the reds and oranges and yellows bellow
And join the black cinders
as we char and burn
We hold our hand above the flame
Only one wish in our heart
 
The Precious must be saved
 
And we cannot see it
In the last moment
As our eyes fall below the fire
And our body is
Hot hot hot
To hot to go on
But the precious
Is atop
On our black cindered hand.
It will be fine
 
We hopes so
We hopes so.

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