Samhain: The Black Harvest

Samhain

The Black Harvest

written by: Julian Lee

 

Upon the moors, the pyres began to bleed,
Their crackling tongues devoured the withered seed.
The druids chanted oaths in shadow’s breath,
To seal the gate between the life and death.

The fields lay black, their harvest turned to mold,
As winds grew sharp with whispers harsh and cold.
The dead broke loose, their mouths with soil still filled,
And stalked the roads where human blood was spilled.

The bonfires roared, a shrieking, tortured choir,
As smoke betrayed the sky with pitch and fire.
Each soul that faltered, marked by curse and bane,
Was dragged through ash and bound in ghostly chain.

Masked figures prowled with hollow, gaping eyes,
Their carved grim smiles concealing muffled cries.
In twisted guile they mocked the ghastly dead,
While corpses moaned for flesh on which to fed.

The tables groaned with offerings of bone,
Of rancid fruit and hearts turned black to stone.
The doorways wept with blood upon their sill,
Inviting shades that come to feast and kill.

From Éire’s darkened womb the horror spread,
Of Samhain’s night, the kingdom of the dead.
Though children play, the ancient curse remains,
And death still walks when silence grips the plains.

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