Tyler R. Martin

It was the first night since yesterday
On a midnight in Mayalla
And all the street lamps
Shuddered in the breeze.
It was the first wind
To gust the city streets,
To rattle the bones of buildings
And just slightly bend the beams.
And it was the first chill
To haunt Bose boulevard
And chatter the tarnished teeth
In the mouths of wary wanderers
Who trek the narrow streets.
The first wind of the year
(As does every year)
Marks the beginning of The Season
And not a soul of Mayalla
Was unaware of the approach.
This wind would seem but a triviality
To those unacquainted with Mayalla,
But a badness with it came
And Dread tumbled with the leaves
And shook even the corpses
In their graves.
And with the wind
The Mayalla sky grew
Cool and yellow
As the sun receded
Toward the horizon’s brink,
And there it shimmered
For what seemed a moment
As dark dusk rose
And the light
Began to sink.
For in this bitter time,
The beast did arise
To claim it’s yearly offer,
Baring it’s fangs
In form of winds and rain
As the howl of
The winds
Return His call with
It’s refrain.
So, to quell the beast
And all manner
Of His plagues
And proxies that he summon,
Will be brought forth a man
For the grand honor as he,
Screaming fit
To wake the dead,
Is bound to the great tree
For the wolves to ravish
And drag away his head.
All to please the Beast they serve
And pray he chose, for
One more year,
To leave Maylla in the peace
That it deserve.