the divine

A wreath lay upon
The bones of beloved,
Tithed for mercy
From the fire.

They tell tales
Of its wrath,
And whisper, “the divine.”

It will rage,
And it will growl.
It will torment
The weak.

So, slaughter them
They did,
To save them the pain.

field fire

They tell tales of its wrath, and whisper, the divine. Click To Tweet

This post is part of a series of short thoughts, tidbits of writing, or brief reflections of the mood in my current works in progress. These posts can be found on a page called “Reveries” for you to visit when you want to wander and be lost in thought with me.




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S.L. Ember

Horror and dark fiction writer.

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