M. M. Kolf
Spirits, magic,
And the fear of night…
A long withered arm reaches out
From the fog
And wipes at the darkness
The perfect web.
A path is cleared.
Step away.
Little men weave lines of terror
Spitting on the day,
In patterned poison,
Spittle siphoned from the night.
The innocent have no place.
Spirits step back, and fade away,
Who can take on the night?
Yet there you rest.
Step away.
God lunges forth
To end the foolish craft,
Is stayed by the hand of time,
Bound by the freedom of the living.
Where the force of life is yanked
There He waits.
Final gasps, loving arms, eternal gates…
The last breath is not too late.
Step away.
