The Chosen Few: Chapter 1

Choking winds conceal my breath

Spiraling downward to the ground

One lost soul that can't be found

Unforeseen by hidden grace

Ice cold eyes with a wicked face

Intentions solid to leave this place

Genocide of the human race

Fears amidst from where I stand

"Come here child. Take my hand"

My feet lay planted in the sand

The want of death is in demand

Burning coals and barbed-wire spears

As I scream, they cover their ears

Frozen solid in the night

Cast away from the light

Here I lay dying as the sun rises still

The Earth won't stop turning as I intend to kill

Blood races downward from the bite that I took

From the lifeless victim at my feet, now impaled by a hook

He's dead too and now I can be him

I possess his body, my sinister dream 

My body arises from the ashes below

Crippled and deformed, though the blood continues to flow

I was never him to begin with, but now he is mine

I broke his soul and stole his body as I chose to dine

His life is over and mine is anew

I guess that's what they meant when they called us “The Chosen Few”

© 2006 Bryan Friedman