This is the story
Of the great John Smith
Man of adventure
His legacy and myth
John Smith was daring
John Smith was so brave
John Smith knew some things
That he took to his grave
He’d been to the West
He visited the Poles
And seen the Far East
He’d near travelled the globe
At each place he stopped
He’d scribble a note
In a small leather book
That he kept in his coat
The pages were yellowed
And weathered with time
It looked so ancient
With its dust covered spine
The children gathered
When he’d come to town
He’d laugh as they sat
By his feet, on the ground
Some tales were new
Some stories were old
Some entries he said
“They must never be told”
Each story was good
For only one pint
The hours rolled by
Tales told through the night
When all the young ones
Were off to dreamland
He called to the men
With a wave of his hand
His face grave and grim
His hands, how they shook
He reached in his coat
And pulled forth, his small book
His breath came in gulps
His eyes were shock wide
With hands drippn’ wet
Pulled the cover aside
The men gathered near
He bade us hear well
For this story here
Was not one he’d retell
From dark lands he’d come
And never returned
The things he’d seen
In his mind, had been burned
Africa, he said
Was wonder and wild
Searched an old ruin
And he found something vile
An ancient statue
Far ‘neath the old stones
Altar aside it
Just littered with bones
In a great chalice
Held high in its hands
He found the remains
Of a young Piltdown man
The bones were etched
As if he’d been tied
And some even seemed
To’ve been chewed on one side
The strangest thing was
The bones had some flesh
It didn’t look old
But in fact, it looked fresh
He raised up one hand
From the rim to see
And found it covered
In a grim butchery
Gore, bright and crimson
Dripped wet from his wrist
It squelched just a bit
As he tightened his fist
Before he could leave
That primeval pit
The statue shook hard
And his hand lost its grip
He fell from his perch
Far down to the stone
Cracked his head open
On a giant leg bone
His vision was blurry
But, his ears worked fine
A scraping he heard
Seemed to come from the shrine
As he edged closer
The louder it grew
Mind full of questions
So then, nearer he drew
Behind the statue
A crack in the wall
Dim radiance came
And an unholy squall
Then, through the crevasse
A vision of hell
Strange creatures bounded
T’were no beasts he knew well
They looked like an ape
With parts from a toad
Unsettling form
That some mad god had sewed
He covered his mouth
Or else he would scream
On that moonless night
For the unholy scene
He turned from the sight
And tripped on a bone
Which shot from the floor
Then, struck hard the cracked stone
The wall gave a moan
The crack opened wide
Revealing to all
What was hidden inside
The beasts turned to John
From their revelry
Their rage clear as day
And John knew, he should flee
Figures uncounted
Swarmed from the hole
With one thing in mind
To reach John, was their goal
With bones in their hands
They bellowed and wailed
Then launched there at John
The mere sight, made him pale
He lurched to his feet
And off with a crack
He fled that dark shrine
And he never looked back
It is said, the note
That he put in his book
No one was allowed
Not so much as a look
He claimed to be cursed
By that eldritch place
Said, he’d been followed
For, they knew well, his face
Across the savanna
And over the seas
He could not escape
In each place he would be
Dark agents would speak
Their god’s profane words
Walking among us
So John through, that he heard
He’d turn a corner
In any small town
Hear something whispered
And then quick, look around
Monsters and old gods
Were nowhere in sight
But, it mattered not
To a soul, filled with fright
He locked himself up
Behind fence and wall
No more stories shared
No one visits at all
One day, the maid came
Found John in his bed
The sheet over him
Stained deep, crimson red
They say that the maid
Was given a fright
And so horrified
Her dark skin turned to white
I’ve heard that his face
Was missing the eyes
And some of his bones
Were chewed on one side


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