Your Poetry Dot Com - Blood Flower: 1

The journey begins
With the ending of breath
The ending of life
Is but the beginning ... of death

‘Twas ages ago and lifetimes long past …

I was young once, long ago, so long in fact
I can scarce recall suckling from my mother
Nor the taste of her milk, though I do remember
The flavor of her blood

I carved with a sharpened fingernail
Into the flesh of her forehead, a rose, her namesake
I crouched by her side mesmerized by the bodies attempt
To irrigate the wound, the Blood Flower, as I came to call it
It would adorn all my future conquests. Its visibility unimportant
For its existence would become most known
They that walked with my mark would be eternally bound to me
They that walked not, were sent to their judgment
With my tattoo etched upon their soul

I waited as the blood became black and hardened
Rigid from exposure to the atmosphere
I waited holding fast to my candle, watching
I waited as the body began to reanimate
The eyelids fluttered then opened, still I waited

For the first time in years I recall a smile, fleeting as it was
Adorning her features as she gazed upon my countenance
Then her face contorted and twisted first in shock then in confusion
As the sickly scent of oils registered to her newly heightened senses
And then the pain from the cross I had so carefully positioned
I had lain it between her breasts with the fire pit tongs
And now it was slowly searing into her flesh

Oh yes, the cross that she so dearly loved
It was finally, truly becoming one with her now
In the name of that cross I had been beaten, tortured and abused
O’re the whole of my adolescent years, I had been convicted
Guilty of the crimes my father had committed and then passed on to me
But no longer, never again would this woman belittle me
I had the power now and I was in control.
I held her fate within my trembling grasp
Indeed fate flickered and danced, a thin wavering flame atop a candle
Accompanied by a slight wisp of smoke

I merely laughed at her attempts to escape, our roles reversed
With the leather straps I had secured her wrists and ankles
Knotted firm and tight as she had so many times before
But this night student would become teacher of the final lesson
Rather than into a ball, I had stretched her out upon her back
Her limbs pulled to their limits then the straps were nailed into the floor
I waited on, as the cross languidly descended further into her
I wanted the words. I was waiting for the words
She knew them for she had heard them countless times

She screamed
In a self-righteous rage she demanded to know what I had done
She bellowed out a name, but the boy I had been was there no longer
In his stead was a man. Nay, more than a man, a possessed being
Armed with a thirst for vengeance, and teased by the taste of her blood
A reborn man with a new name, a new future and a forgotten past

Silently I waited, her agony continued for hours
She screamed obscenities in the name of her former lord
She struggled against the drying leather. It had been soaking for days
Now as she pulled against them the knots only tightened further
The leather cut into her pallid skin. She had taught me quite well
She was finally beginning to grasp that I had planned this
And for years, she had been laying the very foundations of this scheme

All I had needed, was a “Soul-less One”

( soon to be continued .... )

This poem is Copyright ยฉ Nazmythian