the sun a wounded child,
forced to recede behind the breaking hills

slick and wicked black
the bark shone on trees
washed bare by the moon

the winds kick with branches whip,
dry, dispelled
of all flora red
racing chasing orange

the stir of night,
Hell’s brimming froth
a fervor roiling higher

And so alight the spirits
shucking sod and sentient body
old coffin cretins seeking sate

A demons bath cackling
to the murky clouds caught
They howl as one to bring this night


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