Poet #Thirteen


"The storm that night was
Truly dreadful, everyone said
Though few would mention
What happened in that bed.

At Doctor Wiesse's house
All ears were plainly catching
Above the howling wind and rain
All around, a constant scratching.

But soon the babe would be born
Albeit there in a room so bleak
The thought of life gave them hope
Until that haunting, unearthly shriek.

The mother's scream cut the night
Shaking the town's every house and hall
Horror filled the witnesses, as rats
Poured through the windows and walls

And watched the child. The child,
With eyes green and bright with life
Would only laugh; Dr. Wiesse almost
Joined in, until he saw his wife.

Years later, no one mentions
The little doctor's house; where
After all that strangeness no one
Knows if any still live there.

In fact, the family still does live
Within that house, without joy or mirth
The mother, comatose, sleeps days
Away every since that fateful birth.

The others, in mourning, silent too
The father in desperation turned
To alchemy to find a cure. His
Daughter, in anger, is spurned

As a demon seed, but feared by him,
as well. He thought her touched
By the devil; though her companions
Are odd, to her it seemed too much.

The rats still visit, all the time.
They understand her, she's found
And when she plays her little pipe
They gather from all around.

But father needed money to
Continue with his research
She knew all his life he'd wanted
Nothing more than a cure.

Anything for her father's love.
The rats told her they know
Just the thing if she'd pay the price
And go where they told her to go.

Venturing to the town of Hamelin
Already desperate and poor
The rats began to spread their plague
The city, thrice cursed, swore

That they would pay her to assist
And so she played and played
And when the rats had left the town
Hamelin still couldn't pay.

Now they are bound, said the rats
And told her once more to play
The music sounded, the children
Crowded, and followed her away.

Though she was confused, her friends
Seemed excited.  Circling and lining
the children together, they danced
And chanted, 'til the circle was shining.

And she played, and she played,
Though near frozen with fear
Around her were screams,
But she feigned not to hear

For soon the song was done; nothing
Was left, save dead grass and bone-
She hadn't even noticed, as her eyes
Were caught instead by a stone.

Blood red and sparkling, she knew
From her father's studies just what it was.
With joy and excitement, she grabbed it
And rushed home to her father without pause.

"Father, Father, the Philosopher's Stone!
I've made it!" She ran up and cried,
Though he barred all the doors, yelling
For her to never again come inside.

It was then that she noticed her
Hands--all bone! For she too had died.
With only the stone to keep her alive
She gasped; had the price been too high?

Everyone talked of the storm, that night
Truly dreadful, Without a doubt!
Though none will mention the piper's song
Or just what happened, at Dr. Wiesse's House."

The End

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