Call of the Dead by Steve Bolin


Call of the Dead
By: Steve Bolin

In the darkest of night, I look upwards with fright,
At the moon hanging bloated in the sky.
The chill wind is bringing, dead voices all singing,
With howls shouting, ‘Tonight you will die!’

My mind’s left no decision; my body is a prison,
My will’s replaced by an insane command.
Unheard is my insistence, I have no more resistance,
I’m lead to a cemetery plot of land.

With prodding that scolds me, I ‘ ve done what they’ve told me,
I’m directed to this yard full of graves.
Underneath earthly plots, countless corpses all rot,
Their dead voices scream to me in waves.

Two beings full of pride, my hands spread open wide,
Like a director conducting his choir.
My fingers brightly spark, from my hands lightning arcs,
Electricity strikes all the headstones with fire.

My nerves start to shake; the ground starts to quake,
The earth rumbles like creatures wanting out.
Lost are thoughts of hoping, when graves all split wide open,
I bite my tongue to silence screaming shouts.

They claw and they toil, to dig out of the soil,
An Undead Army soon stands up before me.
Smelling rotted, decayed, and maggots displayed,
Their expressions say that they adore me.

I can no longer fight, these creatures of the night,
They possess my soul now so firmly bound.
Like stars brightly falling, I see this: My calling,
The purpose of my life has now been found.

With a will not my own, these decay-covered bones,
Have chosen me as captain this night.
As the zombies all stand, a gun’s put in my hand,
It’s raised to my temple, pressed up tight.

I think I understand, that to lead this zombie band,
I must now become one of these undead.
I don’t remember pain, as the slug passed through my brain,
I stood there with a hole now through my head.

Though lifeless I now stood, saw Death’s face-covered hood,
He offered me eternal undead life.
Now one of them I see, this Army follows me,
We’ll cut our path out like a surgeon’s knife.

Suddenly hunger pains, are driving me insane,
Instinctively I knew what we’d all need.
Just beyond these graveyard gates, a city of flesh awaits,
I lead my legions through the night to feed.

No longer am I forgiving, to those who still are living,
They can’t escape despite what they may do.
The living will be beaten, when their flesh we all have eaten,
When we’re done with them, we’ll come for you!

7 DEC 03

About the Author

A life long resident of Indiana and full time writer, Steve Bolin has previously published poetry and short stories in, "Black Petals," and "Dark Moon Rising." His first fantasy novel is scheduled for release in early 2006.
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