Poor thing,

He's dying.

The wounds took their toll, didn't they?

He thought it would be okay,

But every time he smiles,

Those scars open just a crack.

The pain was unbearable;

He would have to heal these things, they were
such a nuisance...

He had no idea

That those little problems

Were bigger than he thought.

Not so long after that day he smiled,

Old Zeke came up,

With a worried look in his eyes.

He told me
That smile was fatal.
His grandson was dying.

As he said those words,
My breath halted.

I kept listening

Those accursed cats
poisoned him,
He said,
With their claws of silver,
And hearts of gold.

Those scars would never heal unless...


He didn't know.

Next time I saw him,
He was still smiling.

He had never smiled before,
And I wondered
If it was my fault that he couldn't help it.

His face was covered in blood,

Streaming down like ribbons
Of crimson silk,

I just couldn't look.

He was lying on the floor,

His heartbeat faint,

His breathing light.

I bent over his form as his mouth formed the words,

"I love you."

And then and there,

I died inside.

This was not
How it was

So I sang.

I sat beside his motionless form
And sang like never before.

I sang words of healing,
Words of soothing rain,
Words of soft light,
Words of life,

That for once,
This endownment would be of any use.

I just kept singing.



Hours passed.

I almost withered,

Almost gave up...

But no.

I kept singing,



I sang louder,

And slowly,
I saw the scars fade,

The blood
Was still there,
But it was no longer flowing
Like some deadly waterfall.

He smiled,
And this time it didn't pain
Or hurt him,

Because the scars were almost gone.

For the first time,
I smiled back.

I love you,
I said.

He said.

The face I knew came back,
A face without scars or scratches,
A face of a young man that I once knew,
That I still loved.

I agreed.

And I leaned over
And kissed his pale cheek.

And we both smiled.

(A poem, dedicated to Manfred Bloor. The new Charlie Bone book just came out, so I felt compelled to add a little to it...)
(written in the point of view of my original character, aka, myself)