3 October 2012
In the local pumpkin patch, By light of harvest moon, I watch the tumult of the earth, And carve a hallow tune.
The jet black sky, an onyx cloak, Wrapped tight around my shoulders, The frosted air bites at my face, As my soul snuffs and smoulders.
I shudder with emotion, Charged, cold, into me by night, As my bones convulse with power, And my blood drains, pale white.
Through the vast expanse of shadow, Crafted by a pale hand, I sell every breath into the patch, And meet death, waiting for my land.
In The Pumpkin Patch • Opuss № I