by Nick Gisburne
A rod of twisted silver, driven deep
Rejuvenates the broken, brittle skin
A curse, reversed, recalls the soul from sleep
It melts the evil magic trapped within
The cold, unmoving carcass fills with heat
Absorbing all the nutrients it needs
Discarded while the world was incomplete
The silver softens as the creature feeds
A spark, and flame, divided, starts to spread
It multiplies as fuel for the flesh
The metal, turned by alchemy to lead
Becomes a hollow heart and beats afresh
A scream, beneath the surface of the sea
The prophecy begins. The beast is free
