Tuesday, March 1, 2016

Terror Tuesday: The First Spoonie

At greatest cost, and travels far and wide,
And hardships past the telling, Kafye held
Within his grasp the true elixir. "Guide
Him well," intoned the master, who had dwelled
Alone these long millennia, as he drank.
A look of bliss o'ertook that ancient face
Ere it was dust. Then Kafye, who ne'er shrank
From rudeness, crowed his vict'ry. Of our race
Alone would he ne'er feel the touch of death,
Or age. And he had drunk of this while young,
Unlike the one he'd robbed. A ragged breath
Escaped him then, a cry of pain now wrung
From searing lips. Eternal agony,
Alone, now was his lot. So must out be.

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