The darkness dank and creeping so
reaching in to scratch the soul
mists from deep within the soil;
drags the moist and undead limb.
Standing tall the orchard moans
cracking Earth dark undertones
writhing cries from the witchy crones;
tapping the red mans horn.
These are the night of the flitting dream
where the thick of dark in horror scream
consciousness caught in a fluttering stream;
as a fly, is to the web.