Image by g-hat via Flickr

this poem goes along with Nine Skulls

My Dead Brother’s Tavern

12 June 10

.

The tavern smells of spilt ale

Everyone speaks in loud whispers

Each has their own wild tale

A place of ill character

.

The drunks are singing old songs

The bar maids sing right along

The pirates pay with stolen coin

Looking for more to purloin

.

Here they spend all their gain

On food, whiskey, women and song

While others scheme the next plunder

Never thinking they evil nor wrong

.

Loud and boisterous the tavern is

Yet none speak of the owner

None dare look in the back corner

Her eyes cold as an undertaker

.

Men have died from her schemes

A few more could die tonight

She has ears mixed among them

Seeking souls to steal at midnight

.

Tonight a wench has caught her sight

She can hear her heart beating

She hungers for her youth

Her fingers she begins thrumming

.

Soon the girl sits at her table

Eye vacant from the spell

None watch the girl no more

Death do well to tell

.

Down in the cave

Below the taverns celler

Lay bones of many dear girls

And one live in screaming fever

.

None above will hear her die

None above would give a sigh

Only her mother will ever cry

For the girl that must slowly die

.

More of my Writtings:

*  The Immortal Man

*  Night Worship

*  The Sorrow of Horror