Tuesday, May 5, 2015

The Hungering Host


As the waning crimson sun sets
Over this cold and tortured land,
Reddening sky signals the rise
Of winged devils craving warm blood.
Fiery-eyed shadows venture forth
From darksome clefts and lightless caves
To gather in a swirling cloud
And whirl around a craggy tor
Ere descending upon the vale
Where their harried mortal prey dwell.


Trembling souls quiver in their beds
While ebon wings beat overhead.
Terrified rustics pray to gods
Indifferent to the dire plight
Of their tormented devotees.
Ravening fiends tear through the roof
Of a herdsman’s turf-covered cot
To rip a rosy-cheeked young lass
From her mother’s protective grasp
And drain the wailing youngster dry.

Hovel to hovel the host soars,
Spreading death like a pestilence.
The ravaging horde slakes its thirst
While kin of the slain curse the night
And weep for those taken to feed
That black legion’s hunger for blood.
Glutted shades then depart the vale
And return to their sunless holes
As the crimson dawn breaks once more
Over this wracked and weary land.

(Originally published in Disturbed Digest, Issue 2, September 2013. Also published in the May 2014 issue of Bloodbond.)

Copyright © 2013 Richard H. Fay

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