Elica

Ecila
by J.H.K.

Bones and a skull
Were all that was left.
The hyenas are all full
Where the zebra once slept.

The cowards of the land
Only attacks the sleeping or the dead
When the victim is helpless
Alone, vulnerable and friendless.

Everything is twisted
Even under the stare of the roar
Upside-down or lopsided
Like a knobless door

The pins start pricking
Hoping to draw blood
First mark of harvesting
Until the flow and the flood

The cloaked figure is there
Watching, with a walking stick
The hyenas give him a glare
For another corpse they will pick

Discombobulating is at place
Mutilation is holding the Ace
On the table lies a blood-soaked lace
Once knitted by the hands of grace

Knowledge and intellect cannot save
When the head is at the executioner’s feet
Even the stone grave can cave
For the volcano’s flow is never too steep

One day the string will snap
A thunder and a clap
I will stand holding a dripping blade
For the two Jabberwocks I will have slain.