(Read part 2 here if you wish: http://www.youngwriterssociety.com/post822555.html#p822555)
Part 1
Some may call this age-old story,
Made of pure love and of glory,
Witch-like, whimsical, wonderful or weird,
Trust me it is greatly feared.
Many who first hear this legend,
Feel themselves just slightly threatened.
For it is no bedtime myth,
Somewhat gory at its pith.
It was in the first few ages,
That the Angels, free of cages,
Flapped their feathery, fiery wings,
Beauteous creatures of all things.
One such creature, pretty flower,
Bathed her hair in Id’lis’ sour.
Glisten, glimmer, glow and gleam,
Blonde to brown and brown to cream.
Comb in one hand, cup in other,
“Stroke and drink”, as taught by mother.
Stroke the fine and silky fur,
Drink the water as it purrs.
At the hum of Id’lis rushing,
And the swish of constant brushing,
There she heard a distant pound,
Ears erected at the sound.
There stood man, by river’s flowing,
Mouse-trapped by her gorgeous glowing.
In her hand she let now drop,
Brush and cup with sounding flop.
He let fall his blade and treason,
Lost his clothing and his reason,
Met the Angel at her hips,
Then he met her at the lips.
Taste of man was slightly bitter,
Taste of Angel made him jitter.
Skin of man was hot and spry,
Angel’s skin caused butterflies.
Sworn to never, ever vanish,
Man, with pleasure, did now banish
Life before the Angel’s meet,
For his heart was now complete.
But the Angel herself had sworn
Never to conceive a newborn.
Should she break the trusted vow
Nasty things would come allowed.
Four years later, merry couple,
Felt their hearts grow like a bubble.
Angel’s vow still not unveiled,
Man kissed Angel by the heel.
Moving upward, in his urging,
Both him and the Angel merging,
Did the river and the trees,
Witness their child be conceived.
At the sound of ninth month’s gonging,
Angel could dismiss her longing
For the newborn she had bred,
And could now in basket bed.
At the sound of ninth year’s ringing,
Father could hear Angel singing
About how their nine year girl
Was now ready to unfurl.
Though the girl was by now tougher,
The more she began to suffer.
For inside her dwelled a spell,
That now needed be expelled.
One day in her rage and fury,
At her parents’ constant worry,
Her head red, her eyes alight,
Hands outstretched with forceful might,
Shot a beam without a weep,
And sent her mother to her sleep.
Father also hit by daughter,
Though uninjured, ran and caught her.
Arms like rubber, skull unlocked,
Angel was as dead as rock.
Daughter, in her unbelieving,
Dared not speak, nor raise her breathing.
As her father looked her way,
She braved just to run astray.
Father, by the lonely river,
Felt a quiver and a shiver.
In his weep and in his strife,
Slit his throat red with his knife.
Newinus, the witch that thundered,
Ran and ran down Id’lis’ wonder.
Wondrous, wondrous, it is said,
That the Id’lis runs now red.
Tell me what you think. It's a first draft. Thanks for reading!
