Ain't no rest for the Wicked - Philip Wardlow - The real and the sensual sides to life in all its facets..
The Night Entreats
The crows rested in the trees;
for the killing was all done and they
Their caws as they conversed,
sounded like laughter to my ear;
as if the murders they had committed
had been all in good fun.
The wind whistled in the trees
and nudged the dead leaves
to life across the road.
Brown and gold skittered like roaches
and hopped like bulbous toads
traveling in a disorganized parade
for the dead.
The bright moon held no warmth
for it worked with the cold wind
and played through the trees to
cast pale blue shadows upon me.
Figures of dark demons, witches, and imps
danced in front and behind as I softly crept
lest they hear me trespass in their day they
called night as they played.
My step quickened as the wind seemed to thicken
and pushed at me like a hand on my back.
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