- Sylvan Silence -

A Tale of The Supernatural...

There was silence in the sylvan realm, as clouds gathered on high,
And in the primordial seas below, the ancient things did stir anew.
For sorcery was at work in the land, which rational minds oft deny,
Although such powers exist in this world; I have seen them, true!
It was in October, when I set out along an old country road alone,
Not too great a distance from the house I have long called home...
On a night with fog so thick that it seemed of astral mists created,
I found myself drawn towards a nearby park and its' grassy fields.
Not a moment did that fog lift, nor had the chill in the air abated...
But rather it grew like unto a veil, covering the air like thin shields.
And on this otherworldly eve I heard a piercing cry, inhuman shrill,
Yet I could not walk away, for there was within me a primal thrill!

Of a sudden the fog rolled back and in the misty fields I so beheld,
Shadows human in their shapes, yet ethereal in sense and form...
Enacting some scenes from another time, walking where they fell,
Playing at life as children play at growing up in some future morn!
Above them all, a shrill cry like the Banshee of ancient tales told...
Oh, what horrors must have been in those fields in bygone days!
My grandmother told me once of a woman's murder, brutal, cold...
In those very fields it took place, hid from the sun's warmer rays!
The murderers long since gone, justice long since forgotten about,
Before my birth, before my generation, the evil became a legend...
As all who walked where the death was dealt could never doubt,
Were they to see what my eyes beheld, down that country bend!

Haunted fields and spirits in the woods, such is the unseen world,
That exists past the thinnest of veils, in quiet New England towns.
Ghostly ships off the cape, with tattered sails still grimly unfurled...
And animal spirits that enjoy their hunt near native burial mounds.
I have heard tales of demon bears, things that go bump at night...
And things that defy the logic we treasure, seen with other sight.
And so, when sorcery awakens in the land and spirits rise again...
Those like me, with the gift to see, must with such things contend.
When what gods there be use their power, to make us listen well,
In the silence of sylvan meadows sing dark angels fallen from Hell.
Beautiful yet terrible, as all things from the outer darkness can be,
All this and more can await, when you have the heavy gift to see!