As townsfolk sleep in peaceful calm,
dark legions of the fallen,
cursing madly, claw trenches
in the dank and fetid marsh
and fallow fields around the town.
Quickly scraping out their
benighted ghouls babble abuse.
Demoniacs ravage the village verge,
where they erect filthy
fairy rings of bloody bones
and gloat insanely over
false memories of morning meat.
Writhing with fury among
the eldritch sodden symbols
in sorrow-frozen sedge,
massive and stone-hard as hell,
coldly smoldering in the wicked damp,
dark death waits and hates with bile enough
for its enemy and itself.
Posted on Magnapoets – August 2006.