Poetry can be beautiful (but it doesn’t have to be).
The photo below, and assistance from two others (anonymous for now, until I get their permission to use their names), inspired the poem further below.
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Amish Savior, a poem by Scott Powell
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Among the bloody husks of corn,
a mutant infant – vengeance born.
Swaddled in quilts of English flesh,
It takes its first unholy breath.
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A prophecy none dared believe,
too horrific to be conceived.
Secret sisters, fear their savior,
soothe its brow to curry favor.
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Closet brethren, bloody buggy,
headless horses, cannot whinney.
Whisk the child to hidden caverns,
for it to grow, and hate to learn.
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When moon is full and stars are bright,
for none can look in full daylight,
they offer gifts, some still living,
knowing soon he’ll do their bidding.
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When faithful travel to their towns,
the people laugh, as if they’re clowns.
They know they must suppress their rage,
as it is written on the page.
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Although terrified as it grows,
it must be done, as each one knows.
They wish to live in blessed peace,
and only it can bring release.
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They are shamed, and take no pleasure,
knowing future drastic measures.
Their vengeance soon will visit those,
who love to taunt and land their blows.
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Too soon it seems, the day has come,
though some object, it must be done.
The English threat must be controlled,
their way of life they wish to hold.
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Soon the peace they dearly treasure,
will be granted them forever.
The prophecy will be fulfilled,
when all the modern men are killed.
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Again, I ask that you please not attempt to have me committed.
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Eat Write and Exorcise 