Castle Fein
Brave Harris reclined with his newlywed wife,
the fair, flaxen-haired Merri-Jean;
together they spoke of a soft, happy life,
each step of their future, without any strife:
they surely ignored Castle Fein.
“Oh, Harris,” she cried, as they looked at the moon,
“I shall treasure you truly, so true;
and if ever my love for you waxes jejune,
or, if ever my heart starts to stray, just as soon,
you must kiss my white neck ‘til I’m blue.”
They laughed and they loved all that summery year,
then the Bushes brought on a great war:
Brave Harris enlisted and trained in grunt’s gear;
they sent him to Iran as combat engineer –
sweet Merri-Jean began to get sore.
Then one winter night – a cold, starless night,
Merri-Jean had her first real nightmare:
she saw the grey castle far off to the right;
she came to approach it despite her great fright;
an Owl hoots to her left… she is there.
Over the moat and past buttresses high,
the air soon grew foul with decay;
she crept through a mouldering door which was nigh,
past flambeaus and cobwebs – she thought she would die:
at last she came to where Count Fein lay.
She looked on his face with a morbid delight,
her eyes were aglow with despair;
Count Fein was a thousand years old on this night;
the prophecy said she’d be there – it was right!
Merri-Jean became caught in his stare.
But the Count was vested in chivalrous code:
he gave her one chance to withdraw;
but it was she who was lambent – who so ghastly glowed;
it was she who on him, her honor bestowed:
outside croaked the Ravens in awe.
Nothing of this cold earth could have prepared
poor Merri-Jean for that horror bed:
red dancing demons, and green eidolon scared
her wits from her brains as her bosom she bared –
she soon came to wish she were dead.
Count Fein had his way but he wanted her blood;
he’d let her keep fresh for awhile:
he sent her to stay in the dark dungeon crud;
she lived among worms and she slept in the mud –
but things were about to turn vile!
On the night the cold winter moon, glowing green
eclipsed interstellar waves,
the planets aligned with fair Earth in between;
auroras and haloes and glories were seen:
and Brave Harris returned from the graves.
He found her with blind and watery eyes –
dead senses tuned-in to despair:
he wanted to give her a special surprise,
while crawling with flesh-eating maggots and flies;
from behind he crept, reached for her hair…
But Look! Into the room leaps the Vamp,
with fire-like spells of command.
Brave Harris attacks to defend his blonde tramp,
who watches the fight in dim light from the lamp:
the newlywed dead makes his brave stand.
See Harris fight like a tempest machine.
See his eyes dripping with goo.
And Harris the brave defeated Count Fein!
gave out a great shriek, then grabbed Merri-Jean,
chewed her white neck ‘til she turned blue!
Since then, ghouls haunt the Count’s castle ground;
two ghosts, in fact, disturb his dark night:
Harris the brave spins his wife round and round,
as they dance to where all of our horrors are found,
to the pale winter Goshawk’s delight.
by the way, I dont really see women that way.. it is just a poem. any comments?
hope to hear from any scary poetry fans out there.
Joshua
