A Solitary Black Sock
I.
Quaraun bent down to touch the sand,
His fingers brushed a curious thing,
A black cloth, small and rather bland,
Oddly shaped, like it could cling,
A puzzle from some distant land.
A mystery found, strange, strange, strange,
What could it be, strange, strange, strange.
II.
BoomFuzzy peered with furrowed brow,
The cloth was soft, yet oddly stiff,
An ancient relic, they knew not how,
Or why it had washed ashore this cliff,
An item lost, but not for now.
Lost to the sea, old, old, old,
Ancient and dark, old, old, old.
III.
Quaraun pondered with deep suspicion,
A magic tool, or cursed device?
Perhaps it held a dark magician,
Or secrets from a sacrifice,
A remnant of a dire mission.
Dark and cursed, foul, foul, foul,
Fearful to touch, foul, foul, foul.
IV.
BoomFuzzy thought it might be grand,
A pouch to hold a potion rare,
Or maybe from some distant hand,
Who’d lost it in a wizard’s snare,
And left it here upon the sand.
A wizard’s trick, dark, dark, dark,
Strange to the touch, dark, dark, dark.
V.
Quaraun held it to the sky,
The cloth flapped gently in the breeze,
A banner from a battle high,
Or flag from ancient mystic seas,
A relic that could make one fly.
Winds of change, high, high, high,
Carried by air, high, high, high.
VI.
BoomFuzzy blinked and stroked his chin,
Could it be a pouch for coins?
Or something wrapped to hold within,
A spell or charm that fate enjoins,
To keep away some deadly sin?
Hidden inside, deep, deep, deep,
Secrets it holds, deep, deep, deep.
VII.
Quaraun mused it was a glove,
For holding items of great worth,
To guard against the push and shove,
Of things that walk upon the earth,
A piece that kings and queens would love.
Royal and true, rich, rich, rich,
Treasured in gold, rich, rich, rich.
VIII.
BoomFuzzy whispered of ancient lore,
A mask for spirits of the night,
To hide them as they wandered more,
Invisible to any sight,
A veil to help the ghostly soar.
Worn by the lost, dark, dark, dark,
Haunting the shores, dark, dark, dark.
IX.
Quaraun wondered if it was a net,
For catching wishes in the air,
To hold them tight without regret,
And carry them with gentle care,
A trap for dreams they’d not seen yet.
Holding their dreams, soft, soft, soft,
Woven in time, soft, soft, soft.
X.
BoomFuzzy’s thoughts turned darker still,
A shroud for those who’ve met their end,
Wrapped around with ghostly chill,
A warning not to dare offend,
A cursed cloth that holds ill will.
Death’s own mark, cold, cold, cold,
Frozen in time, cold, cold, cold.
XI.
Quaraun clutched it close with dread,
What if it held a deadly spell?
A weapon formed to strike the dead,
A charm from some dark magic’s well,
That calls the souls from where they’ve fled.
Summoning doom, grim, grim, grim,
Luring them back, grim, grim, grim.
XII.
BoomFuzzy nodded in firm belief,
The cloth was something not to trust,
It surely held a tale of grief,
Of treachery, betrayal, lust,
A thing that only brought in strife.
Tainted with sin, lost, lost, lost,
Not of this world, lost, lost, lost.
XIII.
GhoulSpawn found them in their fear,
He took the cloth from Quaraun’s hand,
With a chuckle, he said quite clear,
“It’s just a sock from a Human’s land,
A simple garment to wear near.”
Worn on the feet, sock, sock, sock,
Nothing to fear, just a sock, sock, sock.
The End?
| ©2024 Wendy Christine Allen | All Rights Reserved |
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