The Writings of Mary Lewys

This was posted in my LiveJournal for Christmas 2007:

T’was the night of Christmas
And all through the manger,
The birth of Baby Jesus
Was in immediate danger.

No sooner than he was born
Did the situation turn dire.
Magneto, evil mutant, appeared
With the villains he hired.

Juggernaut and Rhino landed
And started kicking wiseman ass
While Vemon grabbed Mary
And frightened the poor lass.

Joseph leapt into action
To defend his son and wife,
But Magneto just laughed
And vowed to take his ‘sapien life.

A flash of red, white, and blue
Flashed before the new dad.
Captain America’s shield
Saved Joseph from a fist full of bad.

Wolverine slid in fast
To push the bassinet across the stall
And saved little Baby Jesus
From Crusher Creel’s steal ball.

Ironman landed and
Readied his repulsor beam
To take out Juggy
And Rhino, sight unseen.

On the roof top, he landed.
Spidey readied his attack.
He shot his strong webbing
And wrapped Venom in a sack.

The angel appeared
With an unearthly glow.
With a firm grip, she held her sash
To bring Magneto low.

So Christmas was saved
By Marvel’s Mightiest Heroes.
Now get to bed, you scamps,
Or Santa’s bringing you zero.

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© Mary Lewys, 2007

As the sun threatened to set, the old warrior sat on his porch. His dried, cracked rocking chair swayed very slowly against the faded, painted floorboards. His skin was golden as the surrounding desert sands and his hair yellow-white from the sun. In his weathered hand, he held his sword: the finest katana made from the strongest steel in all the land. Many men’s lives had been ended by his blade, but the blood never stained his hands. He sat with his back straight. He held his head high.

He waited for what he knew would come.

A figure walked through the mirage heat wavering off the ground. Unhurried and steady, soft sandaled feet stepped from the dry earth to the cool, green lawn at the edge of the old warrior’s land. His eyes were still brown, rich as fresh tilled earth, and his smile still crooked. His skin was pale, his hair a bluish white. His wrinkled, gnarled hand held his own sword: a Tai Chi of stainless steel with a gold dragon cross guard and red tassel off the pommel.

He placed a dust covered foot upon the first creaking step of the porch. The old traveling warrior rested his sword on his knee. “Uhnee. I have come.”

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© Mary Lewys, 2007