I’m not a poet, but…

This popped into my head the other day (thanks to Brian for the advice). I thought I’d share. I’m nice like that… unless you hate it, then you might think me mean.

 

Necromancer’s Captive: Bound.

Dead fingers walk the skin of my thigh,

Necrotic flesh a horror to my eye.

Do I brush it away?

Send it tumbling to the ground?

Or simply allow its pawing

Fear keeping me bound.

A ragged, empty breath attempts to leave my lungs

The hand twitching, digging; thigh numb.

What magic is this, giving appendage life?

A hand without an arm

Severed by a knife.

Looking to my belt I see iron

Dull and patchy red

The hand I cut free of my enemy’s will

Still clinging to my leg.

A shudder…

Attempted gasp

Nails revealed dried blood

I need leave here

Chains bind my other hand…

Would that I could

For a time I watched

Skin peeled from leg

And then it struck me

My own stump

Brought to my head.

It is I who is dead.

It is I who is dead.

 

 

If anyone is artsy and inspired to draw/paint something from this, I’d love to see and share it. Hint hint…

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J P Ashman

Born Lancashire, England, J. P. Ashman is a Northern lad through and through. His parents love wildlife, history, fantasy and science fiction, and passed their passion on to him. They read to him from an early age and encouraged his imagination at every turn. His career may be in optics, as a manager/technician, but he loves to make time for writing and reading every day. Now living rurally in the Cotswolds with Wifey and their little Norse Goddess Freya, he's inspired daily by the views they have and the things they see, from the deer in the fields to the buzzards circling overhead. Writing is a huge part of his life and the medieval re-enactment background and tabletop gaming lend to it; when he's not writing the genre, he's either reading or playing it. He plans to keep writing, both within his current series, and those to come, whether short stories or epic tomes.

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