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.
Amish Savior, a poem by Scott Powell
Among the bloody husks of corn,
a mutant infant – vengeance born.
Swaddled in quilts of English flesh,
It takes its first unholy breath.
A prophecy none dared believe,
too horrific to be conceived.
Secret sisters, fear their savior,
soothe its brow to curry favor.
Closet brethren, bloody buggy,
headless horses, cannot whinney.
Whisk the child to hidden caverns,
for it to grow, and hate to learn.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Soon the peace they dearly treasure,
will be granted them forever.
The prophecy will be fulfilled,
when all the modern men are killed.
Again, I ask that you please not attempt to have me committed.