Small Furies

A little, withered child Slowly made to matter mild Left his anger on the floor And his weapon near the door He tried to take the world away From heaving bodies, dark and grey But twisted knobs-a-turning Showered light from bulbs-a-burning The boy sat up and scrambled fast To tear the shadows of his past Shadows standing, horrified To see the body of the bride When came forth an awful moan The beast upon the floor did groan Groom to be, a shattered mess The boy did rise and now confess He had come to witness here His mother, whom he held so dear Crying out when none could save His father, darkly mad did rave And his father struck her head Sure to mean to make her dead The boy reacted with his fear Took a pen and drew it near The killer rose and came about To make his kin destroyed, no doubt Murder was repeated then A son to make his maker's end Sobbing to be sure he'd sold The story to the guests he'd told The boy took up his bloodstained tool To end the story for a fool He smiled to see his job complete Two dead bodies at his feet And all the world to never know What hate did make his fury grow