The Feast

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
poem about a ghoul

Submitted: November 30, 2007

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Submitted: November 30, 2007

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The Feast
By Zach Tarantelli
Their fear is his breakfast
Their flesh is his lunch
Their bones are his toothpicks
Their eyes he will munch
Their blood is his soup
Their veins are his straw
He might eat their heart
He will eat them raw
First soothingly he speaks
To draw them to his lair
Then he wipes out their minds
With his piercing stare
Next he’ll slice their throats
And make their blood his feast
Forever the remains are lost
He uses every piece
What is his name you ask?
What do you call this beast?
Some say he’s a spirit
Some say he’s a ghoul
No one knows for sure
Except the ones he fools
For right before you die
He whispers in your ear
The name the devil gave him
The name that causes fear
The name that every victim knows
When the Croth comes near

copyright february 18, 2008


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