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




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S.L. Ember

Horror and dark fiction writer.

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