Cornfields

One

By the silver of full moon's light

Lending her glow to darkened night

Forgotten harvest through rows of corn

In darkened fields, the killer's born.

In shallow graves, no one to see

Hides a soul's life memories
Under soil, and earthen home

A heart's last word, an epic poem.

No golden light to guide the way,

The tortured soul is trapped, must stay

Roaming fields in silver light

Waiting to taste its killers life.

Ebony curtain, a shroud of fog

Embraced by hell, no light of God

When wandering soul sees she's not alone

A piece of sweater, a broken bone

A collection of the killer's prey

Vibrant lives just snuffed away

His hunger cries into the night

Wandering soul prepares to fight.

Two

He escapes back to the day

Another nightmare chased away

His student's love him, he's their man

Born to teach like no one can

By day he is a man of means

A man of God or so it seems

A body strong within his faith

A tortured soul, born of hate.

His mother used to make him bleed

While fufilling sinful needs

He'd hide away within his mind

Until no heart was left to find.

His father met an awful fate

As the result of mother's hate,

The first he buried in the corn,

In darkened night, the killer's born.

2010 Natasha Head