The shadows are rising beyond the path

And the hidden stars bear no more witness.

The dying breeze murmurs whispers of wrath.

The stream hushes itself into stillness.

No owl braves the gaunt of the silence stark

And the shivering night breathes unease.

The moon hides her face in the shrouds of the dark

‘Gainst the haunt of the mist engulfed trees.

The watchfull woods mock the wild eyed gasp

That fear distills to be hungry drank.

Their strength is the creaking, clawing grasp

Of the twig that cracked and the crooked branch.

The emptiness of the waiting gloom

Bemocks the straining, clamoured eye.

Through the creeping brush and the tangled roots

The thieves of tomorrow’s tomorrows rise.

They grow in the dank of mist wreathed boughs

They stir under rock and moss covered log.

Rank with the taint of their ageless power

In the rotting womb of the dampening sod.

Each wary step is one further from home

And the warmth of the hearth’s cheering light.

What knife is to flesh and hammer to bone

To the heart is this road in the night.

Unseen, they stealthy, patient pass

With muffled stamp upon sodden earth.

When the dim shadows rise beyond the path

The Nameless gather with frosted breath.

(Copyright, Gordon A. MacIntyre 2007)