It started as a whisper deep in the glen.
In the dark places where nobody goes.
Deep in the caves and sodden moors.
Like the stranger that nobody knows.
Far in the distant unfathomable past.
Whispers became rumbles in the morass.
The souls lost to heaven came back at last.
Seeking their bodies like dirt under grass.
A chill came over the autumn that day.
The moonlight was filtered by clouds of gray.
The creatures' red eyes burned like coals.
In the hidden places, the land of lost souls.
A wind came up with lightning and rain.
The cold grew colder and slew the trees lain.
Stripped of all garments, gaunt in the frain.
Cold to the core, in their nakedness, slain.
Yet the heat of souls' passion could not be quenched,
The earth's core their source for all to be wrenched.
Fire and brimstone became their awful stench.
Like steam from a cauldron they rose from their trench.
Scalding the sky and burning the trees.
Scorching the color from the autumn leaves.
Consuming all creatures as they pleased.
The lost souls rose to take their ease.
The storm's fury was ended with one mighty blast.
The cold waters boiled, and life screamed its last.
The wolf howl, hooting owl, consumed in the repast,
From that day forward, nighttime was past.
Earth Consumes the Moon
More Poems
My Place
Read War's End the Novel
Copyright 2004 © Ronald W. Hull
10/31/04
A House Stands Gaunt