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Silent Meadows
- Silent Meadows -
Crickets chirping across silent meadows, trilling fairly,
Give way to the sound of bats amongst the high trees…
Trees whose skeletal branches reach out desperately:
As if they might catch errant souls blown on a breeze.
But some souls cannot be caught, for they are so old!
Chill the wind when autumn’s frost first begins to stir,
And, well do the spirits of the trees weather the cold…
For they are ancient, and hath much wisdom to confer!
Though who speaks to the trees, and who can listen?
The bats know but they keep their secrets hidden well.
Stars bear witness as they sparkle forever and glisten,
Whilst, in the dark of the land, wait beings from Hell…
Some noble and some profane, of less angelic lineage!
For all demons were angels once ere they harshly fell,
But not all were created equal, in their maker’s image.
Some do hunt after evil mortals with dark souls to sell,
Whilst others oft prefer, far more complex diversions!
Wild are the hunts, bold the games of demonic mind…
And refined are their basest cruelties and perversions.
Woe, be unto the sorcerer who seeks them, to bind!
Mists forming upon cemetery tombstones, so ghostly,
Give way to deeper shadows that move with malice…
As, not an eye may fathom such darkness’ symmetry.
Far are they, from their home in some infernal palace!
Yet, they are closer to humankind than a loving god…
And more eager to partake in the affairs of humanity,
For they hunger and thirst, and never sparing the rod:
They torture and torment the awful fears of the saintly.
The imaginings of the pious harbor the worst of fires!
In terror of Hell, what wilt not all desperate men do?
I laugh at such fools, for they know no noble desires.
They long for some dream of paradise to come true,
Doing naught to make it so, unlike we fair children…
Sons and daughters, of the night, the kin of shadow!
We are the keepers of that which is eternally hidden.
Who else knows what lies in all the silent meadows?
When the black shades come, we welcome them…
For what hath we to fear from their darkest descent!
Let the damned shake, and let fools ever condemn,
Those things they cannot understand; so they resent.
Silent meadows slumber like ancient bones, heavily,
Their earthen beds, like sepulchers that ever hold…
The corpse of springtime as snow cometh suddenly:
Freezing crickets, and trees, as if perhaps to scold!
To chastise them for keeping the secrets of the night,
From all mortals, when they are meant for we only:
We children of the night, who partake of pure light!
The light of a knowledge that can be so very lonely,
And so, we seek companions and lovers to share…
The dark road that so few can walk and stay sane:
For there is much madness, even beyond compare.
Much insanity in the darkness, and immense pain…
Pain so perfect that it is more akin to pure pleasure!
Let the winter come, for it is fated once in Samhain,
The dark season, that hides many a secret treasure.
The crickets fall silent, all across humans’ domain…
And soon, the winds shall howl like wanton beasts.
Whilst, the shadows haunt the evening, giving vent,
To their desires as they indulge in forbidden feasts.
Autumn passes quickly when winter hath its’ scent!
Crickets chirping across silent meadows, trilling fairly,
Give way to the sound of bats amongst the high trees…
Trees whose skeletal branches reach out desperately:
As if they might catch errant souls blown on a breeze.
But some souls cannot be caught, for they are so old!
Chill the wind when autumn’s frost first begins to stir,
And, well do the spirits of the trees weather the cold…
For they are ancient, and hath much wisdom to confer!
Though who speaks to the trees, and who can listen?
The bats know but they keep their secrets hidden well.
Stars bear witness as they sparkle forever and glisten,
Whilst, in the dark of the land, wait beings from Hell…
Some noble and some profane, of less angelic lineage!
For all demons were angels once ere they harshly fell,
But not all were created equal, in their maker’s image.
Some do hunt after evil mortals with dark souls to sell,
Whilst others oft prefer, far more complex diversions!
Wild are the hunts, bold the games of demonic mind…
And refined are their basest cruelties and perversions.
Woe, be unto the sorcerer who seeks them, to bind!
Mists forming upon cemetery tombstones, so ghostly,
Give way to deeper shadows that move with malice…
As, not an eye may fathom such darkness’ symmetry.
Far are they, from their home in some infernal palace!
Yet, they are closer to humankind than a loving god…
And more eager to partake in the affairs of humanity,
For they hunger and thirst, and never sparing the rod:
They torture and torment the awful fears of the saintly.
The imaginings of the pious harbor the worst of fires!
In terror of Hell, what wilt not all desperate men do?
I laugh at such fools, for they know no noble desires.
They long for some dream of paradise to come true,
Doing naught to make it so, unlike we fair children…
Sons and daughters, of the night, the kin of shadow!
We are the keepers of that which is eternally hidden.
Who else knows what lies in all the silent meadows?
When the black shades come, we welcome them…
For what hath we to fear from their darkest descent!
Let the damned shake, and let fools ever condemn,
Those things they cannot understand; so they resent.
Silent meadows slumber like ancient bones, heavily,
Their earthen beds, like sepulchers that ever hold…
The corpse of springtime as snow cometh suddenly:
Freezing crickets, and trees, as if perhaps to scold!
To chastise them for keeping the secrets of the night,
From all mortals, when they are meant for we only:
We children of the night, who partake of pure light!
The light of a knowledge that can be so very lonely,
And so, we seek companions and lovers to share…
The dark road that so few can walk and stay sane:
For there is much madness, even beyond compare.
Much insanity in the darkness, and immense pain…
Pain so perfect that it is more akin to pure pleasure!
Let the winter come, for it is fated once in Samhain,
The dark season, that hides many a secret treasure.
The crickets fall silent, all across humans’ domain…
And soon, the winds shall howl like wanton beasts.
Whilst, the shadows haunt the evening, giving vent,
To their desires as they indulge in forbidden feasts.
Autumn passes quickly when winter hath its’ scent!
Published 30th Oct 2014
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30th Oct 2014 12:22pm
The imagery evoked is tremendous. Darkness seem to gather on the realm as autumn pass its baton to winter. Otherworldly in its presentation. A signature write that is solely yours, dear Jessica. Enjoyed the read.
I am happy you enjoyed the read, dear Grace! I was quite inspired by the spirit of the season when I was penning this poem, and it really showed nicely through and through with it. Every season has that certain magic to it, both light and dark, that sings to me in certain ways, and in poems such as this one, I always try to capture something of that two-fold magic so that it can sing to others as well. Glad my poem sang so sweetly for you, my friend! :D
31st Oct 2014 2:29am
This is such a rich stroll through a wild forest of dreams and deities, forged, born, explored, scorn and gorged upon. You spit metaphysical verse like a gourmand who only feasts on Gods. Thank you for releasing this one Jessica!
1st Nov 2014 5:52am
Ah, you worded that with such excellent... taste... my friend, that it made the divine feast all that much more interesting by your elaboration of its' many facets! Wild places like forests and hills and mountains always had a certain appeal to me, and in this poem I think I really captured a wild spirit to the proceedings, and indeed it was a rich stroll and an enjoyable one to share with everyone. Your comments, as ever, are well thought through! :D
