What Should Not Be
I sat in the snow
watching the sun set
his head resting on my leg.
Mere minutes ago
his wound I did let
bleed freely, for he did beg.
He wanted to stand
his strength had left him
he knew then he was dying.
His ghost dropped his hand.
His bright eyes went dim.
I said goodbye, while crying.
Then his ghost took flight
his now dead flesh sends
it free to wander the land.
To behold strange sights
and visit dear friends
he can not touch with dead hand.
I sat with my boy
as the land grew dark
I spoke my last words to him:
“It brings me no joy
to make this remark
I tore the beast limb from limb.”
My son then awoke
although he was dead
did his ghost come back to life?
He spoke with a croak
I dried my tears shed
and grabbed ahold of my knife.
“Father, fear me not
I mean you no harm
I am the son you once knew.”
This hope was not sought
was this a foul charm?
His rebirth could not be true.
My dead son arose
and hefted the shaft
of his hammer broken.
Through terror I froze
my demon son laughed
I grasped my holy token.
I could not draw sword
against my own son
even though he threatened me.
Though he had been gored
he chased while I run
away from what should not be.