We abide by the warmth of the fire,
our backs to the cold night woods that surround,
as dark imaginings linger through already mangled minds.
What could it be that terrorizes us this night?
We hear it, for it roams in a circle about us,
raking its claws on the trees in its passage,
brazen and bold in its rustling of the dead leaves
underfoot as it tromps its course.
Heavy breathing speaks of a great beast.
Long ago did our merriment falter and grow
into a cruel sickness within.
Fear is our only companion at this gathering
turned into a mournful wake by nature’s
Rose was a pleasant girl, bright and full
She was the first to go.
Harold never had a chance as it took him.
I have his blood splattered across my clothes.
I shall miss them both.
Max was next, with his silly stupid grin,
as it’s claws raked his face off.
Julie cried and cried, and held tight to
her log, but still she died as it took her
and that piece of rotten wood.
Sylvia and I stare into the embers,
clinging to each other and a reality
that no longer resides.
Once there were six,
now only two.
My beautiful Sylvia, my love, my life.
Yet still I feel no remorse as I throw
by Philip Wardlow 2013