Greenhorn (by Matthew Knaub)

In a time aching for remembrance,
Ancient creatures lived, far beyond our grasp,
In a land enchanted by God’s old past,
Outside of man’s domain and repentance,
These beings with a holy innocence,
Could not know how man is always corrupt,
So when one man came, he interrupted,
Life looked above for divine transcendence,
To find only that he traveled too far,
A man, not evil, only oblivious,
Without warning, prediction to forlorn,
He came, a quest, a goal he was after,
Who knew the end would come out of his kiss,
He brought the demise, his name was Greenhorn.

Just as he determined, spoke a sparkle,
Seven feet forward, through a briar patch,
A glimmer of light made quite an eye catch,
He crawled, hands and knees, to the miracle,
With his hand he clasped the bushes’ barbed branch,
A jolt of pain as he began to bleed,
The thorn had pierced his flesh, a bloody bead,
Fell to the dirt, silent he took his chance,
With his arms he spread the bushes to see,
His blood now stained the thicket crimson red,
No matter as the vision came to sight,
In front of him rested the proof, his key,
Not the unicorn, something else instead,
Magic was proven, this sight was his light.

"You are right, brownie, but what do I do?
I don’t want my presence to alarm them,
Humans are forbidden in these parts," then,
Greenhorn waited for instructions how to.
The brownie came closer towards his ear,
"They will be kind to accept your presence,
Long as they believe that you are pleasant.
Look at me, big man," stood and proved no fear,
"I, Nudnik, have no fear of human souls,"
Standing two inches from his left eyeball,
"The rejuvenating water does good,
I doubt any of them would think to oppose,
Get naked and swim. There’s no need to call,"
Nudnik hopped off and back on the wood.

To eyes that have never seen a human,
Man sure appears interesting in ways,
And to lips that yearned to see how man tastes,
Never before known the bite of his sin,
Man circled now by seven blue beauties,
Toe touched his back, spiraled under water,
The sprite submerged deep as Greenhorn watched her,
In water they must be able to breathe,
Their aquatic blue figures were perfect,
One sprite came face to face with destiny,
She gave her hand to the man openly,
Her flesh felt as good as he could predict,
"Heavenly angel," he was stunned to meet,
"What shall I say?" he must remain friendly.

His vicious prosecutor was a beast,
It stood tall with seven heads and ten horns,
Each head and horn had a body of thorns,
To scorn the wicked with hell full of teeth,
To grind the sinners that turned 666.
The blessed and the cursed number of the Beast,
To guard the number, on sinners they feast,
The seventeen members made quite a mix,
A noble race created by the gods,
To protect the actions of the Goddess,
The number is the Goddess and his sin,
Ample recipe for creating Gods,
That are without sin and truly modest,
Now here to place blame onto Greenhorn’s sin.

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WRT310 Creative Writing, Fall 2005