Dig

Buried shallow 'neath the forest floor,

        Dozens of bodies, perhaps even more;

Terror in their wide and panicked eyes;

        Victims of a wolf in lamb's disguise.

Stacked in twos and threes like firewood,

        Bodies tangled as no body should;

Barely dressed, flung careless in the earth,

       Far less dignity than each was worth.

Deeply planted, this dark legacy;

        He dances on their graves with impish glee;

Nude, save for the webwork of tattoos,

        Moonlight's glow our killer's silent muse.

From each, he collects a souvenir, 

        (Anything that he could commandeer);

Basking in the memories of their pain,

        Until it's time to dig a hole again. 

- © Jackson Cambridge, 2015