posted on Sep, 27 2021 @ 01:46 PM
Spring time arrived and the creature would crave. Fresh seasons promised different prey for the thing beyond the grave. It alone perceived one
concept, one command: Feed. And each year at spring it would revive, ravenous, raging, remembering again and anew why it remained.
Next, summer would bring its victims to enrapture. Fixation to its dictation, the growing consternation, their delicious trepidation. The beast grew
robust as they became dust. Each toothy thrust was powered by a hungry lust.
Now in its great grasp, autumn exerted a certain softening of the veil. The strength stolen to sustain that satanic machine called once more: A hero
must step-up and strike it subjacent.
Mocking as it fell, the demon knew the winter spell; deprivation and cumber.
A Spring birth, that vampiric summer, fall's revenge, and inevitable wintery slumber.
To dream, to hate, the grave would recall the legends of the fall.
THE END
edit on 2021927 by oddscreenname because: No THE END
edit on Mon Sep 27 2021 by DontTreadOnMe because: (no reason
given)