Amongst the hidden.
Picked at for centuries by decay and birds,
There is darkness,
A core so black that is flows like tar,
stains each brave heart that becomes curious.
Its moans echo
Reverberating from cavernous space
The voices of the dead on the valley floor
Winding their way to the cold of the Tundra.
This day the darkness shifted,
As mischief was afoot
Ruana’s hidden memory decided, sentient
That involvement was necessary
And change was afoot.
The screaming of injustice
Made the darkness flow thickly
In a sickly, form of man.
And so was born Brychan the Black
Torn from the mutating womb
Of something with no name.
And let loose on this world of wicked games…
To be continued
Written for Jingle’s poetry rally week 20 🙂