Pestilence

The barren, hopeless shepherd comes to play
for hours o’er the land in terror gripped,
for silence holds lit candles in its sway.

Rejoice now in the scourged night cries today,
feel peace, feel fear, the walls are like a crypt;
the barren hopeless shepherd comes to play.

Gather here, the town ghosts fade away;
the patterned heights remain still, nondescript-
for silence holds lit candles in its sway.

And out the mist, a single manned foray,
a silent wisp, of human likeness stripped;
the barren hopeless shepherd comes to play.

Here all the souls of passion weave and stray
upon the golden barrows where blood’s sipped;
for silence holds lit candles in its sway.

Now rising high above the moons array
a curtain flows, a barrier equipped.
The barren hopeless shepherd comes to play,
for silence holds lit candles in its sway.

Todays best new poem was written by Michael ‘a Grá’ King.

 

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