Hail, evening on the threshold of the Dark,
as hours grow inexorably cold.
Across emerging stars, a streaking spark
renews feast unimaginably old,
when dead walk, when goblins gather to play,
when ghostlings gather to mischief at dusk,
sweeping away what remains of the day,
both corn’s empty husk and ogre’s broad tusk,
and ancestors wandering, forgotten.
Burn incense on the altar, lay out bread,
for both the unborn and unbegotten,
and unnumbered legions of countless dead
who ask that you make their descendants blest,
ere you join their number in shadowed rest.
You’re welcome.
You’re welcome.
It’s been fun writing this series. I eventually dropped the “gods” poems, at least in part because I was having a hard time thinking of things to write about them. I want to finish that series for next year, but I I think I also want to continue the moon sequence, as well.
Beautiful and evocative. Thank you.
Beautiful and evocative. Thank you.
You’re welcome.
You’re welcome.
It’s been fun writing this series. I eventually dropped the “gods” poems, at least in part because I was having a hard time thinking of things to write about them. I want to finish that series for next year, but I I think I also want to continue the moon sequence, as well.