The moon is full,
The trees are bare,
Dead leaves glide through
The cool, dry air.
The night is silent as a grave,
Or some deep, dark, unfathomed cave
Beneath the stars’ cold stare.
The silence breaks
With hollow moans
And beastly snarls
And clacking bones:
The God-forsaken, restless dead
Awaken from their earthen bed
Beneath cold, carven stones.
Their din grows loud
And twice more dread
Than piercing screams
Or blood fresh-shed.
Out from the very depths of Hell
They slink, too terrible to tell:
The cursed and restless dead.
Their summoners
Shriek shrill with joy
As they behold
That grim convoy.
By potions, charms, and arcane verse
They placed this night beneath a curse
And bade the dead deploy.
Assembled now,
That fiendish crowd
Swarms dizzily
And hails aloud
The thousand execrable names
Of him who reigns in acrid flames,
In doom’s eternal shroud.
The chaos of
The hellish throng
Soon dies away,
But not for long:
More fearsome than the din before,
Their voices join as one and roar
A wild, infernal song:
“Praise the one
Once bright as sun,
Who dared defy
The Three-in-One.
“And so he fell
Too far to tell,
To reign as king,
Our king, in Hell.
“He dared to bring
Death’s dreadful sting
To Earth, to gain
His following.
“He first laid eye
On man, and by
His sweetened tongue
He made man die!
“Alas! Our wrong
Prevailed not long,
Soon overcome
By One more strong.
“Still, bubbling from
Hell’s fires, we come
Up to this sphere
In massive sum.
“Behold our sheer,
Brute strength and hear
Our battle-cry
And quake with fear!
“We venture out
To thrash about
This world of men
And win our rout,
“For thus we can
Complete the plan
Our master spun
When time began.
“Now, to our feet –
To prowl the street
And visit doom
On all we greet!”
Then off they fly
With roars and shrieks,
A putrid mass
Of loathsome freaks.
In frenzied swarms, they pierce and tear
Throughout the land; they fill the air
And choke it with their reeks.
No soul is safe,
No home secure,
No heart so strong
It could endure
That mob, accursed from Above,
Bereft of life, devoid of love,
Whose doom is swift and sure!
With sharpened claws
And bloodstained sneer,
They plunge the world
In abject fear,
Let loose for what they most enjoy:
To slay, burn, terrorize, destroy,
And raise Hell’s horrors here.
Their rampage, though,
Must cease at last,
For in the east
The day comes fast.
Though theirs was cold and shadowed night,
They now must yield to breaking light
That fells them with a blast.
With that first ray,
A piercing cry
From all the ghouls
Cuts through the sky.
Dawn breaks! At last the Day of Saints,
Expels them back to their restraints
In flames that never die.
Great Michael leads
A countless host
For Father, Son,
And Holy Ghost.
With eagle wings and flaming swords
They charge and rout the demon hordes
And squelch their one night’s boast.
Then through the clouds
Pure music flies.
A radiant choir
Circles the skies:
The saints who fasted, prayed, and bled,
Whose faith has conquered death and dread,
Have come, all come to grace the earth
As testament to second birth
In Light that never dies.
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The featured image is courtesy of Pixabay and has been adjusted for clarity.
Beautiful poem with a glorious final three stanzas.