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Saccragast (Second Draft)

My first revision to Saccragast, let me know your thoughts on the revision below.

Prologue

Tonight insomnia holds my hand, for he hunts.
In a daze I relive when I was his prey;
A theatrical drama, I wish was staged.
The play opens on the night I was snared and bagged

Act I Scene I

In darkness: musky air drowned in blood and wee;
The sack’s hairs scratched like witch talons;
With every step, as waves pound against cliffs relentlessly,
the sack crashed into his back, hard as granite;

Pain etched in broken bones, the taste of blood
but I was not alone in the sack, I was blind
still I could feel dead limbs ebbing against my life.
Whose blood wet my cracked lips? Why did I drink?

To be continued …

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Posted by on Thursday 26th September, 2013 in Poetry

 

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Saccragast (First Draft)

I wanted to write a bit of a scary poem about the bogeyman / sackman. I think the imagery needs some work on this poem, however the theme and essence of the poem is there. Thought I would share with you how I write. I generally write a first draft, such as, that contains the essence of the tale I want to tell in the poem. Then I will re-read it and create imagery, explore words, improve the flow and meter, add similes & metaphors, and generally just evolve it. I will share the evolution of this poem with you … so you get a little inside to how I write. Enjoy!

I lie awake tonight, for he is hunting
Once I was the hunted,
The night I was snared, fresh
Musky smells of dried blood & urine
Itchy hairs of this sack prickle my skin
No light, rocking against his back

Wide eyed I stare, crimson
Scares mark my friend
He doesn’t breathe, so
I hold my breath too

Bugs crawl under my clothes
Gnawing at my nerves,
Tasting the blood of the other
Boys mouth, and ear

A scream nearby stirs my thoughts,
Their voice is swiftly stilled
Footsteps approach, the bag opens
The night sky blankets the moon
A lifeless body collapses on me

We are lifted with ease, now moving fast
Dead eyes stare, I don’t want
To die, I will be good, too late
We have stopped, and turned
Upside down we fall

Cascading down like a rockslide
My body lands heavily on the dead
Atop of me my friend falls
He doesn’t move, he is silent

His eyes are closed, I can’t
An old man walking in shadows
At his feet I meekly grovel
“Ye shall keep” he mutters

Now each night he hunts
I lie awake, waiting to hear
The sullen thud of his meal
Each thud means I live another day

Each meal I eat I see
I see dead eyes staring
Bugs drinking bloodied ear
I taste the gristle of pointed fingers

Ma warned me of serving him
I chose to ignore her, now
Pale skinned I slave for him
For he is the Saccragast

 
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Posted by on Thursday 29th August, 2013 in Poetry, The Struggle Within

 

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