Calling all my monsters

I am calling upon all my monsters and beasts out there,
On the creatures that lurk, and the glittering eyes in the dark;
There are few of us left, soon we will disappear forever.
Well, at least we have lived to the fullest, and left our mark!

Brothers, do you recall how the grasslands stretched to the horizon,
And the deafening roar of countless wings overhead?
Back when Rome was a village, and Britain – the Emerald Island;
Before we gave up on our future, and buried our dead.

Where have you been hiding? In nightmares and in fairytales?
On the pages of fantasy books, and in video games?
Barely scraping along in the wild, and working retail –
Trying hard to forget what we were once, and our shame.

I will not let you have it your way! I will not let you go.
You are all that remains of the battles that we fought and lost.
I have made it my calling to reach out to every lost soul,
Offer each wraith a home, and a cloak to each bare-threaded ghost.

We are ashes and dust of the Inquisition bonfires.
We have seen those we loved hunted down and burned at the stake.
We somehow survived through the rise and the fall of empires.
And you, people, seem set to repeat all of our mistakes.

You extend your lifespans, but without death – there is no progress.
You are toying with plagues. You’re aiming your guns at the stars.
You deny our magic, yet meddle with magical forces.
It’s as if what you want is to fade to extinction, like us.

If you had seen the wars we once waged – Oh, the glorious slaughter!
Our proud rebellions without a reason in sight….
None of that matters now; it’s clay that’s been washed off by water,
Leaving only an ache in the wounds, and a void inside.

There is so much we could teach you, if you’d only listen,
But you will remain deaf to our words until it is too late.
Like teenagers, young races don’t care for ancient wisdoms;
Satisfied with their own ignorance, and their hate.

Yet you cannot erase us. Our flesh has been mixed in with soil,
Dying screams of our women and children have seeped into stones,
It is our blood you seek every time you are drilling for oil,
And beneath the asphalt of your suburbs are fields of our bones.

Orange glow of a fire and pale electrical glow
Both cast off our shadows, as our legends unfold.
We are the archetypes that exist within every man’s soul,
And we will live forever, or as long as stories are told….

Copyright @ Julie Deshtor 2017

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About Julie Deshtor

Julie Deshtor grew up in the Soviet Union during the turbulent 90's, and moved to the United States shortly after the Soviet Empire collapsed in 1991. A bilingual author, Julie writes both fiction and poetry, as well as translating poetry and lyrics. She brings her rich cultural and life experienced to her fiction, exploring the psychological struggles of her characters with compassion and insight, as they navigate the murky waters of the modern society. Julie currently resides in Utah, USA. Her interests include art, world literature, zoology, anthropology and urban subculture
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