Oh, rare the night a rage full moon, Shadows cast illusions of doom. Cast ye tears among the graves of old, Ancient tears of blood run cold.

Thunder roars the mountain tops quiver, Withered branches the massive oaks shiver. A vast inferno blaze crawling upon the ground Screaming its triumph for the bounty it found.

And the forest speaks the ghosts rise high, A taste of death as midnight is nigh. Breathe life into the dead. Walk on shallow soil, Restless shadows dance like a snake they coil.

Creeping mist icy fingers of forbidden thought, Crawling ever onward reaching anything it wants. Fire from the sky shards of jagged steel hide beneath, Phantoms roam, demons play, only for a while they breathe.

© Cynthia Clark