The Watchers in the Sky- 9

Part Nine

Strike Three

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a poetry series by student DP

From the glow of the moon, the light did bounce,

off of both alien’s, each visible ounce

of puce-coloured skin and mauve shaded eyes

– which for Bess were once as blue as the skies.

Fearful Fred shook; he knew it was his time

whilst in the midst of the forest sublime.

The creatures closed in fast for Fred’s goodnight –

he prepared himself for such gruesome plight.

They ripped at his skin              and tore at his clothes

and punched his face in            which broke his small nose

they scratched and they bit      and they grabbed and clawed

they kicked and they hit             until Fred was floored

stomping and stamping             and breaking his bones

beating and trampling              ignoring his moans

bludgeoned with a final strike to the head,

Fred was no more – the beaten pulp was dead.

Over the mess of a body they stood

in the rising dawn of the large pinewood.

They grinned: “The master plan is working well

said the imposter – the Julie from hell.

New-Bess bit viciously at their own paw

to release the bloods and do as before;

to infect the corpse of the fallen man

and increase the number of their small clan.

The cadaver writhed, and surged with their blood;

it jerked, and twitched as the body was flood

with new genetics to convert itself

to a bigger and better state of health.

With a plum-toned gleam from white blood, so pale,

the body lived; but no longer as male.

Another corpse had been resurrected –

it was as successful as expected.

The three returned back to their residence

with plans to be this world’s new denizens.

Their appearances phased back to the old

identities of the bodies they stole.

They waited for the moment to be right;

a precious moment in the dead of night.

The clocks whirred around until it arrived –

into the forest, again, they would dive.

They went to the place of the fallen trees

where all that was seen was their canopies.

Stood still in a triangle together

with no care for the cold nor the weather.

Their purloined earthly forms shimmered and shone,

glimmered and gleamed ‘til those guises were gone.

The return of their people, now, was nighas they called for ‘The Watchers in the Sky

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