The Summoning

A dark poem, about the loss of innocence and its connections with evil.

Before leaving, the boy said “Goodbye” to his mother,

Humming his tune, as he stepped over the threshold

Into the dark, swirling mists of the earthy ether.

As he kicked the thick mud, his step was steady and bold..

 

As he entered the orifice of the deep, dark forest,

He skipped �" up and down, left and right, over the clear path.

Searching the treetops for an elusive raven’s nest,,

Oblivious to the lurking shadows whispering their wrath.

 

A sudden scrabbling noise rose from the green bulrush,

But the boy was deaf to the noise, hearing his own beat;

He was blind to the undergrowth of the clawing brush,

Crawling out on the path, ready to grab at his feet.

 

Nearby, the little child heard a strange, unearthly noise;

It had come from behind that vicious, poisoned thorn bush.

It was an other-worldly sound �" strangled and screechy.

The loud, terrifying shrieks made the little boy shush.

 

 

Curiosity overwhelmed him. Looked through the thorns.

Saw a pyre - strange, masked creatures in a ritual dance;

In unclean, torn rags and sporting horns, sharp and ready-spiked,

Their mesmerising prancing put him into a trance.

 

The sub-human creatures stopped their strange primitive dance,

And turned to where the small vulnerable boy lay.

Their sudden, ceased movement broke him from his enforced trance,

He ran, disturbing from its sing-song, a rare black jay.

 

The fiery witches and black demons caught up with him,

Scratching his weak neck as they scrabbled for his collar.

Anyone could see what they wanted him for was grim;

loving the purity of innocent little souls:

 

Perfect for The Sacrifice.

Perfect for The Summoning.

Perfect for The Return, of the King of all Sin and Vice.

Perfect, was this little soul �" untarnished.

 

There was a thunder-rumble, the earth torn asunder,

Strange red mist, not unlike blood, sprayed out of the fissure.

It swirled, fused together creating the ugly Monster;

The Devil; He did not walk, or float, just took his tour.

 

He atomised, then re-formed next to the little, quivering boy,

Lashed roughly to the makeshift, but everlasting pyre.

His wide ugly grin showed the terrorised boy His joy,

A young soul he seemed to admire, a soul he would desire.

 

He placed his mouth over the boy’s face, not in grace,

And quickly sucked from him the soul of innocence.

The sparkle in the his eyes then fled at a rapid pace,

The Devil screamed �" “LET THE SUFFERING AND PAIN COMMENCE!”

 

The doomed boy’s little mother at home was unaware,

Unaware that her son would be gone forever - as Friday the date;

When the world is in for a scare, that long promised scare;

For The Devil was finally here, with his hate.