Polly

Writings and Witterings

Blood-tithe

10 Comments

The time is upon us.
Seven years is up,
the blood-tithe is due.
The carmine blood-tithe, darkly red;
mortal infants, nearly dead.

All too human
donations are
siphoned.
Bones and flesh
abandoned to rot and
rattle in the cave.
What’s left of breath
is but vapour;
traces of life
exhausted.

One day
they’ll be
exhumed.

He’ll be here soon
to collect the cup;
the chalice of
the faerie queen.
The malice of
the faerie queen.
Rich and coppery,
fresh,
carmine dark.

It will rest in the stiff
black
sack
upon
his back.
And he’ll cast
a glance
over
his shoulder
as he rides
away.

Polly Stretton Β© 2013

Grain Sacks

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10 thoughts on “Blood-tithe

  1. This would make wonderful short story, Polly!!!

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  2. Wonderful Polly!

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  3. Ooh dark!! πŸ™‚

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  4. Ace! I love all your poetry but these otherworldly feeling ones, pertaining to Faerie or mythology (or both) are my faves, nicely done, pal. πŸ™‚

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