Hammers on Bone

the whip cracks across

his back

he whispers

“no more”


ancient demons

rise from the ground

making every grass grey

mist of horrifying magnitude

slowly seeps into their




a warm yellow blanket

that smells of sulfur

all the while

the dark lord


and holds his whip

thinking he has


it all.


the neighbor hood watch

never relented

and even as darknesss turned night

there was a light


at the end of the street.


This poem is inspired by the Monster She Wrote, Prompt Challenge: Day 25-Hammers on Bone. I will be trying to follow this prompt challenge as much as I can throughout the month of October! Photo by michael schaffler on Unsplash.

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