PROMISE

new chapter every day (or so …)

On the first day of Christmas my true love sent to me, a partridge in a pear tree.

Partridge

It was a cold night in Cunningville, no sound apart from the snow.
The flocks they travel through air so still, inside the river no flow.
A loud and hellish-shrill scream then cut the scilence to tiny shreds.
A layman might try to keep ears closed and shut, but the forrest never forgets.
The partridge is watching from high above, its claws hooked around a branch.
“So help me, oh help me my dearest love!”, the screams sound in captive trance.
Two small little eyes witness blood and gore, two small little wings they fly.
To keep a promise the village once swore, to never let evil deny.

On the second day of Christmas my true love sent to me, two turtle doves.

dove

The day had passed, the night had fled, but the turmoil had yet to succeed.
To try at last sneaking into bed, a horror to cover, indeed.
The people they sleep, two stangers make love, no sign of harming or threat.
But an eye always keep, on the rooftop, the doves, watch the living and the dead.
The latter, it seems, is watched today, as the covers once again lift.
Out of the bed and into the hay, the creature just left its gift.
Four small little eyes witness blood and gore, four small little wings they fly.
To keep a promise the village once swore, to never let evil deny.

On the thrid day of Chirstmas my true love sent to me, three french hens.

hen

Hush, hush in the coop, hush, hush says the wind, as the girl is chasing the hens.
Rush rush in the streets, rush rush it’s a hint, but the little one sees no suspense.
Soon, soon will it strike, soon, soon will it be, that the blond locks are jumpng no more.
Noon, noon now it starts, noon, noon all hens see, how the girl tries to run to the door.
Late, late will it be, late, late will she fall, as the redness soaks all her clothes.
Fate, fate one might say, fate, fate hens see all, as the creature crawls back where it rose.
Six small little eyes witness blood and gore, six small little wings they fly.
To keep a promise the village once swore, to never let evil deny.

On the fourth day of Chirstmas my true love sent to me, four calling birds.birds

See here, precious dame, come close to the woods, let red and orange hug tight.
Beware of the flame that eats all your goods and burns your sweet skin, it might.
Oh dear, what a fool, oh my there she goes, as the evil soon follows her steps.
No fear, stupid girl, you’ll die, petite doll, as the devil throws out all his nets.
The sparrows there sit, down low in the snow, when the flame and the flesh unite.
How narrow the trees, how awful the flow as the bone and the heat collide.
Eight small little eyes witnessed blood and gore, eight small littles wings they fly.
To keep a promise the village once swore, to never let evil deny.

On the fifth day of Chirstmas my true love sent to me, five golden rings.

rings

The leaves smoothest rustle, the bells softest chime, the alcohol flows in his veins.
The sweet evening’s rustle, the sound of a dime, a dull head and questions remain.
Click clack on the table, tick tack on the clock, the fella his pours down quick his drink.
A smack on the head, a whack on the neck and the lumberjack falls in a brink.
A pure golden shine captures murder at last, gets splattered with red, silky blood.
One loud sounding whine as the man falls down fast, and the rings soon drown in warm flood.
Five small little rings witnessed blood and gore, five small little circles they fly.
To keep a promise the village once swore, to never let evil deny.

On the sixth day of Chirstmas my true love sent to me, six geese a-laying.

goose

One might think that after six days the evil would rest, maybe even return.
But not at all when times were medieval, when passion and darkness would burn.
There goes on a wickedly curved passageway, a youg chap with cheekbones so fine.
Oblivious boy throws his life away, insidious creatures, it’s time.
The six geese a-lying on green grass then watch, as the boy is pushed off the path.
They gabble and chatter as bad and good touch, and the small one is killed by sharp stones and wrath.
Twelve small little eyes witness blood and gore, twelve small little wings they fly.
to keep a promise the village once swore, to never let evil deny.

On the seventh day of Chirstmas my true love sent to me, seven swans a-swimming.

swann

The smooth, turquoise waves wash the sand to the shore, the lake rest between reed and sun.
A laundress is folding her shirts on the floor, her sweet lips still whisteling with fun.
Behind the old tree, hiding careful and mean, stands once more what has killed for six days.
Takes steps very slow and avoids to be seen, sneaking up is his hideous ways.
The swans’ pure white feathers are coloured in red as the lady falls down with a scream.
Another one killed, another one dead, another dark murder was seen.
Fourteen little eyes witness blood and gore, fourteen little wings they fly.
To keep a promise the village once swore, to never let evil deny.

On the eighth day of Chirstmas my true love sent to me, eight maids a-milking.

milkmaid

On the ninth day of Chirstmas my true love sent to me, nine ladies dancing.

lady

On the tenth day of Chirstmas my true love sent to me, ten lords a-leaping.

lord

On the eleventh day of Chirstmas my true love sent to me, eleven pipers piping.

bagpipe

On the twelfth day of Chirstmas my true love sent to me, twelve drummers drumming.

drummer

***

Promise, by Isa Radich, July 2017

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s