When I was a child of only three,
The rotted man came for me.
Late one night,from my open door,
He slowly crept across the floor.
He took me by the hand and said,
"I'll save you from this life of dread."
We left the house in the early morn',
And took his carriage of black and thorn.
We rode for hours, through thick dense fog,
To a darkened,unlit swamp filled bog.
Where topless trees with hanging moss,
Were shields from the unseen winter frost.
The thick wet heat from the dense cool air
Crept up your back and through your hair.
He took me to his house of bones,
On a path laid with cobblestones.
Upon his door hung a head,
Of a child with hair of fiery red.
His hall was bathed with blood red tile,
The walls were stacks of flesh in piles.
He told he of his protective few,
And begged that I should join him too.
He smiled and through his rotted lips
I saw a thousand children's fingertips.
He promised me the world would pay
And told me that I could stay.
Then we entered a smaller room,
And the rotted man gave me a red balloon.
Then I saw my mom through a tinted glass.
The man with her was talking fast.
The tears were pouring from her eyes,
The man then held her while she cried.
Then the rotted man did the strangest thing,
He sat down with me and began to sing.
A soft nice tune that filled my head,
with puppy Dogs and fresh baked bread.
It was then I noticed that the rotted man,
Was simply old and had a tan.
And then my mom burst in the room,
The feel of warmth, her sweet perfume.
She hugged me tight and swore to me,
From here on out, dad would let us be.
No more bruises,no more fights,
No more screaming in the night.
The rotted man had saved our lives,
By taking those who beat their wives.
The children that cry when they're dropped,
And are beaten senseless until they stop.
I thank the rotted man a lot.
And never have I forgot,
That the thing I fear, saved my life.
They had found my father with a knife.
There are real horrors on this earth
Some are subjected to them at birth.
we were saved by the man of rot,
I was lucky but many are not.
But this is how I dreamt my life.
When my father came with the kitchen knife
I thought that I would be set free
A lonely child he would leave be
I thought a man could save me too
Take me away all black and blue
But life is not a happy end
And As an Infant without a friend
My father crushed my tiny lungs
To me his words he spoke in tongues
For I had no sin to give
Just an Infant to young to live
And when I died my final thoughts
Was I wish I was saved
By a man of Rot
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8 years, 5 months ago
17 Nov 2015 13:59 CET
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