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Gathering of the Dead
by Richard H. Fay
Never gaze upon the rath
On a cool November's Eve,
For there wandering souls meet
Beneath a bright Harvest Moon.
Grey wraiths gather amongst stones
Marking ancient pagan graves
While wan spirits dart about
Glimmering a corpse-light glow.
Murmured voices chant strange words
Forgotten by living men.Never set foot upon grass
Barely bent by ghostly feet,
For fey gasts hate intrusions
Into their phantasmal fete.
Free from prying mortal eyes,
Tattered lads reel hand-in-hand
With filmy spectral lasses
While impish harpers play tunes
Sweet as lost love remembered,
Soft as a doomed man's last breath.Never enter that fell dance,
Though seduced by glamour’s charms,
For embittered shades steal life
Deftly drawn into their midst.
Ice cold hands bruise naked flesh,
Spreading fatal corruption.
Dusty kiss chokes plaintive cry
As soul parts from withered corpse
And gathers with fellow dead
On a chill November’s Eve.© Fay, 2009
Richard H. Fay currently resides in upstate New York with his wife, daughter, two cats, and a rather confused shepherd-chow mix. Formerly a laboratory-technician-turned-home-educator, Richard now spends his days juggling various writing and art projects. History, myth, legend, and folklore all serve as inspiration for his creative endeavours. Many of the fruits of his labour have appeared in various e-zines, print magazines, and anthologies. Other examples of Richard’s work can be seen on his web site, Azure Lion Productions: http://azurelionproductions.com