So here’s something that never quite happened before. I had an idea for a short story and decided to render it as a poem instead. But the poem quickly grew unwieldy and so I had to pare it back to the point where the plot of the story got lost. So now I just have this short strange thing and a draft for a story that rhymes. Hm.
The rhyme scheme here is shared with the poem “Porphyria’s Lover,” about a man who murders a woman because she was perfect for a single moment and he wanted her to remain perfect forever. Porphyrias are genetic disorders related to issues in the body’s production of blood (that’s really oversimplified, but damnit, Jim, I’m a writer, not a doctor.) The idea for this poem came from the video game “Bloodborne.”
From video games to medicine to poetry. It’s the circle of life, and it moves us all.
Because the blood beckons near as much as
Necessity dictates, it became time
For the hunt to begin, to trod the paths
Where dark things dwelt and slay them for their crimes
(“’Tis right, ’tis just, ’tis good sport. ‘Tis sublime!”)
The first beasts to fall were little ones, small,
The infirm and the old, the weak and the young.
(“A beast is a beast, my boys! Heed the call!
“Raise your weapons, there’s work yet to be done!”
“Our kinfolk count on us! Besides, it’s fun!)