Land of the Impure

The forest was a dark abyss.
It was still great, and still mighty,
But darkness ate at its heart.
Its green, caring heart,
Filled with creatures of the trees
Creatures of the water,
And creatures of the dirt and mud.
But darkness was disruptive:
Her fangs clenched themselves
Around the forest’s throat,
Drawing blood from the flesh
And hallowing the breath.

He walked through these woods.
He was unaware of time,
Nor was he aware of life and death.
All he could taste, see, smell and touch,
Were good and evil.
And all he heard were its offspring.
And so with his bow in hand,
Bent like the moon atop the leaves
That encircled him,
He tracked down darkness,
To kill her.

He represented all that was good.
His touch was pure,
His soul was angelic.
His features were drawn ever so gracefully:
The Gods must have practiced
Their most beautiful penmanship upon him.
He was clothed in rags,
But these were drenched in radiance,
An aura he projected all about him:
It split apart evil’s being.

As he reached a clearing,
And the bow in the sky was raised higher
By the Gods’ starlit hands,
He decided to have a short rest
Upon the soft earth.
But as he drifted off,
He heard a deep rumbling.
The very ground beneath him shook.
He leapt to his feet,
Bow strung,
Heart racing,
As all about him the trees stirred and whispered,
The stars were blacked out,
And all about him was ink.

All at one evil lunged:
Her graceful fingers with their sharp devices
Reaching for his eyes.
He avoided her scratches,
And pelted himself to the side.
He drew himself up courageously
And looked into her eyes:
Red, fiery eyes,
Surrounded by black hair,
Sallow, pale skin,
And accompanied with a body
Suited to a female of felines,
Such was its style.

She in turn gazed at him,
And saw something in his heart
That her own did not possess.
Wary of any matter that were different,
She revealed a twisted knife
Made of sin and grudge,
And made to plunge it into his heart.
But he wielded an axe of forgiveness and fair,
For fair was he,
And so would she be if she had but his fair.
And with this axe he cut away
Her devilish heartstrings, one by one.

“O, thou kill me, would ye?” she wept,
“When I hold such beauty,
Such honor,
Such life?”
But he remained untouched.
“I kiss you now, and may you rest,
If only to never disturb this land again,
Or any other you may see.
For there is no true life in darkness:
But a fake life.
Darkness is found in any,
Regardless of age,
Sex or race.

And here are you,
Elderly but not wise,
Female yet not lady,
White yet not pure.”
And with one last kiss on her
Fevered lips,
And one last slash of his
Axe, twin of dozen whips,
She drew her last breath.

With her death was the forest restored.
He clambered out of its confines,
As her remains still spotted the ground.
He may have fixed this,
But refrained.
For scars often serve as reminders,
And this lesson was one that all must learn,
And few truly do.