Sons of Le'John

You might not have pulled the trigger and I know you didn't knot the rope but you both slang the words that put the knife to my sisters throat.

They were obsessed and in love, a foolish jester I mocked.

They didn't care, they didn't want to see the jokes they've turned into be.

I pleaded with them and begged, yet they spun in circles of love and webs of lies,

floating on clouds of nine and flying high.

At times I was jealous because I admired the gaze in their eyes until I started to see the fire behind them, jealously was no longer intertwined.

Indeed they were puppets and amazed by the charm.

Magicians I called ye, sent from afar.

The spell was enchanting ahhed at by the Gods.

My sisters were the Blacksmith's victims, sons of Le'john.

The Tuesday after the full moon, I watched them make a pack.

"Never shall we ever love anyone else, For they are the light to our darkness, the being to our human. Of men who art thou holy, our lives shall end once we are useless." 

I watched them gallop away.

For the eve of that Wednesday their bodies were found in a stable outside of town, one gunshot and one rope bound.