Aconite

by Alowl

For the wolfsbane grows thick in the hollowcloaked hall, while the ruins are overcome by its call. Yet it grows the strongest in two tired eyes. A poem divided into three parts see if you can place the references.

Disclaimer: I do not own Van Helsing – either the movie, the book, or any of the numerous other things associated with it. I own my poetry, though.

Aconite

For the wolfsbane grows thick in the scrambled remains

Of a ruin that could never be called a home

Where the dead cluster thick on rafter and wall

A foundation of pain and a garment of bone.

To grace the fair skin of the widows. Unclean

But still locked in beauty. Their raven-haired lord

Once laughed as they swan through the storm-bedimmed air

Their laughter a terror far more sharp then the sword.

OOO

For the wolfsbane grow thin in the hollow-wracked hall

Where once dwelt a maiden. No tower was there

To keep her from freedom. She endlessly mourned

For it dwelt deep within her. The ancient, chill air

Bore witness to sorrow, to chains that bit deep

Engulfed by a torment that never could cease

To scream against shadow, and dream of the sea

A cycle of pain she could never release.

OOO

For the wolfsbane grows strong in two tired orbs

A messenger fallen. A dream-befouled rest.

Becloaked by a curse from long-forgot days

A murderer's mercy. A warrior's test.

Perhaps there was always a wolf in his eyes

To sup on his secrets. For God alone knows

The heart of one lost on the darkest of ways

And the tale of the blood whence the pale wolfsbane flows.