John Thorne


Ghosts


It is dark and it is cold
And fear funs deep tonight
A silent storm with quiet winds
Is passing by unseen by men

Tonight there is no fury on the air
The ice-cold wind can only mutter
As if it were chained by fear–
Silenced by a silent menace

Something stirs within the blackness
Something ancient, something primal
Out there, shaped by winter’s harsh white hands
A spectral thought–A Titan’s ghost–is rising

We shut and lock our doors
Huddle closer to our fires
Bring our weapons within reach
And hope and wait for night to end

Darkness also huddles about the fires
And tries to enter at the doors
It too knows fear this night
Fear of something darker, something colder

Barbaric Winter’s throne is empty
For fear shall reign tonight
And it is dark and it is cold
Out there, upon the silent plain

Submitted: Thursday, October 10, 2013
Edited: Thursday, October 10, 2013

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