His job description is to
Protect the cornfeild.
That haunting scarecrow
Takes his duties
All too seriously...
Reasons exist why
Even crows, the birds of death,
Cower before this ominous entity
And quickly fly away
In a terror-filled plight
His cold, merciless button eyes
Pick out anything
Potentially threatening to
His crops.
Cruel destruction ensues and
Becomes their fate.
Human, animal, even creatures
Somewhere in between...
None are exempt from
His twisted justice's reign.
His neck and hands are
Tied to that bleak, wooden post.
That limitation upon him
Is a facade.
A false pretense to lull
Your pitiful mind into
A net of 'safety'.
Carelessly stroll by or
Run through the stalks.
Maybe rest in the road
That cuts through the property.
If you do, enjoy it.
That will be your last
Piece of happiness before
You fall for the final time.
No one has unveiled
What grotesque methods this
Straw-based tormentor uses.
Or the final tomb of
The recently brutalized.
Only ever are bloodstained
Circles found, painted onto
The cold, unmoving ground,
The silent witness of
The horrid acts.
Often mistaken for another
Life form's art, the
Townspeople have no idea
How distant their theories
Are from reality.
And how eerily similar
It is to the truth.
Ignorance dominates the
Quiet, rural area.
If only they knew
The true price of
Preserving a little
Sustenance...
Tiffany Rose Moczydlowski
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/preservation-4/
