BANSHEE VISIT

By Anthony Gannon

From my icy window fierce frost flanked the land in mist. In the frigid fields stark, naked trees wilted pale. That night, I gaze the dusky moon looming hazy glaze. My candle flickers upon a scribe from Samhain myth. Warning a weary wretched ravenous howling screech. A harrowed horrid hag preying the souls of mortals. Spent coals ashen the rationed light waxes waning dire. The witching hour devours its twilight hours lent; Walls darken as shadows prance prowling boding tales. A woeful wench to wander this realm she impends,

In moonlights breath a frigid mist fleets across the floor. In the darkest corner it forms a fog of fiendish cries, with shimmering silver hair and blazing amber orbs. In mouldy malignant mist she spits a grinning drawl. I fled its shrilling shriek my rump against the door, but sudden it came the apparition drained away. This shaking pen still sways as I write its sombre tale. So creeps this nightly faith, I wait, awake, fretting frail. The hag seared its mark, on my hair she parched it grey. My soul she still pursue till my corpse imbues the clay.

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