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02 January 2009 @ 12:44 am
I decided on whim to look at Lee's old blog on blogspot.com and decided to save this poem before no trace exists anymore. So, this was written back in 2005 and here it is. I think though that this was probably one of the worst decisions of my life. To give up Ultimos Mike.

I sincerely care about Mike Isard. It's funny how these things happen out. I hope he has found the girl he deserves in Stefi.

The Ghast
By Lee J. Warwick

{1) On a new year's eve,
A strange tale did come to pass,
However hard to percieve,
You should hear it while it lasts.
This is not the tale of a frog princess,
Nor witches, nor goblins, or such nonsense,
But the tale of the lonely withering Ghast.

(2) To start; there was no celebration,
Over such an imacculate conception,
For her birth was of deception.
Left for death, Oh! How scary!,
Abandoned in the dank darkness of a forgotten monastery.
Her mother decided to bless her with one last gift,
A gentle loving motherly kiss.

(3) It was four and twenty hours past before her savior came,
He dressed in black and skulls; baring not a name.
"My child, If I could give you one more breath to do as you will" he spoke from behind his cloak,
"What would you do for me?"
The child opened her tiny mouth and said with wretched words of hate,
"Take my heart, for it means little to me, so that I may live long and reign as the queen of eternity"
And so did all fall silent upon the monastery.
Death took his prize,
A heart fresh and new,
As he flew away into the night,
Upon the steps did a pale girl sit under the moonlight,
Transformed by her dark hatred as she crawled away to manifest her spite.

(4) In the dark, as dark things do,
Did crawl, did writhe, did hate, did spite,
A ghoulish phantom born of night,
No longer a girl with a beating heart,
Now just a corpse that could not, would not age,
Immortality was now an ironic cage.
Sinewy limbs that stretched upon bone,
Eyes so black they seemed made of stone,
To look at a distance, you'd think her eleven,
To get any closer, would leave you nearest to heaven.
She was no longer a little girl,
No longer would her teeth gleam a diamond pearl,
So it seems at last,
Our timeless queen was now; a Ghast.

(5) Tempest fujit,
Tempest fujit,
The words written into the high standing monastery bannister,
Caused our poor Ghast to lose it and tear out it's hair.
So out it ran, or scuttled some could say,
Howling long for the heart that had brought it this dismay.
To the town of Moonpale, and not a second too late,
Though late was pretty good and at the latest better yet.
What a shock for the people as the Ghast appeared in their sight,
A hideous looming ghoul frail and white.
They ran, drove and hobbled in fear,
How could one not run with something that monstrous so near.
Soon the Ghast grew angry and demanded a heart,
Lest unfortunate circumstances tear them apart.
Nobody answered, No!, what could they say?
All were too fearful the Ghast would come their way.

(6) Dark attrocities did come upon the people of Moonvale town,
One by one they were slowly hunted down.
Each for their own heart,
When the Law of order asked who was the culprit,
The people cried out "The Ghast!",
The policeforce doubled over and let out a chesty laugh.
So on did the Ghast hunt for a heart,
Sadly though none t'would fit,
Or for that matter start.

(7) Now on a Christmas eve lay a boy, Tommy Tuckett, in bed destined to pass,
His parents locked him in his room,
So afraid the outside world would bring certain doom,
And on this eve of Christmas,
A jangle and a tiptoe did come,
Not from a plump fellow in red as most would assume,
But a skeletal figure clad in white who chose so silently to loom.
It snuck past all the presents,
It snuck past all the toys,
For what use would a Ghast have of them;
When it could feast on heart of girl and boy?
Up the stairs it did creep,
When all lay quiet and sound asleep,
Up to a locked reinforced door,
The Ghast took a deep whiff knowing well before it was it's allure.
The door did come away easy,
For the Ghast had formidable might,
It licked its parched rotten lips,
For a bed-ridden boy was in it's sight.

(8) Now the Ghast was a dabbler and chose to play with it's prey,
But as it pounced upon the bed; plunging not feet first but the head,
Did the Ghast experience something to it's dread,
Clutching to the boy's still beating heart,
Two words slipp'd out like a dart,
Not striking it between the eye,
But hitting deep in a place nobody thought would ever lie.

(9) At last Christmas came,
And at the first sight of morning light,
Rose mr and mrs Tuckett in pleasant delight.
They ran down for the presents to carry to with glee,
A present for their dearest and only son, Tommy.
Strange though, that the door lay flat upon the floor,
Stranger still, that Tommy's window was open to light the room with morning glore,
But strangest of all was a sight they could not understand at all,
And nobody may ever,
Never, not at all.
For peacefully silent, far quieter than a mouse,
Lay young Tommy Tuckett and a young lady,
Once called 'The Ghast'.