All the kids
in the dying town,
wait for night,
then gather ‘round
a statue hewn from golden stone
they open up their mouths and moan
the ancient words of Schra.
Up lifts the earth,
from which it came
beckoned forward by its name.
This new beast rises, bringing light-
oh what a pure and holy sight!
This great and loving Schra.
Letting out
a mighty roar,
Schra sits upon
its throne once more.
The children bow on hand and knee,
and offer up their lives to thee,
dear unforgiving Schra.
Then breaks again
a new days light,
and shrieking madly
at the sight,
Schra writhes and bleeds its demon’s blood
then sinks again into the mud.
Sleep deep once more, my Schra.
The kids shall laugh
and run and play;
this blood hath brought
a happy day!
It seems today this curse may break,
but will come the time to wake
the ever-shifting Schra.
∞
Hunter Bishop is a hopeful writer from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. He enjoys listening to records and searching his bedroom for forgotten mugs of tea. You can read more of Hunter’s poetry by breaking into his notebooks, all of which have sparkly covers and padlocks.
