The big man
traveled through the snow.
His beard was
drenched in red.
Two glazed
eyes stared with lifelessness,
And cold skin,
pale and dead.
A scarlet suit,
now torn and frayed,
Fat belly
ripped apart.
Intestines
hung, yet he still walked
Without a
beating heart.
They followed
him – short, dressed in green.
Trudged
slowly as they moaned.
An army that
desired flesh
And stripped
it to the bone.
A month ago a
poor blonde lad
Lay very sick
in bed.
He never
mastered dentistry
In two days
he was dead.
The morgue
attendant was the first
To learn the
truth, too late.
For when the
elf came back to life
He saw meat
and he ate.
He found old friends
who thought him dead.
They suffered
from his bite
They died and
changed; no thoughts, deranged
A terrifying sight.
Fatalities
grew rapidly
Before they were
aware
The dead
attacked; the elves fought back
But poorly
they did fare.
The big man
fought. It was too late.
North Pole
was overrun.
He boarded up
his office doors
And stocked
himself with guns.
The elves
broke through, chaos ensued
The undead
won the fight
The killed
the reindeer, one by one
Then traveled
in the night.
The happy
days of bringing toys
Were sadly at
their end.
For Santa
Claus did not expect
The rising of
the dead.
