The Wicked Come

The trees crouched

Naked.

Huddled  against the

Snapping,

Icy,

Breeze.

Branches woven,

Clinging together.

Arthritic twigs

Splintered and bent

As shimmering ivy

Slowly encircled

Their moss draped

Bodies.

Crumbling black bark,

Wrinkled with age,

Dropped,

Silently,

Onto the barren

Earth.

 

Alone,

The yew tree

Towered,

Over the bowing

Dwarfen trees.

Fanning branches,

Blocked out the sky.

Walls of sallow bark,

Twisted like

Grotesque,

Dancing,

Wooden statues.

Dark knots erupted

From within the

Bark,

Screaming faces.

A gaping hole

Oozed darkness

Where its heart

Had weathered away…

 

A musty odour

Floated on the

Biting Breeze.

Camouflaged

Hunter coughed

And hid.

Waiting for his

Prey.

Eerie sense of being

Watched.

Sudden crack,

Of whip like

Branch,

Pins him

Inside the

Tree.

Screaming,

Merging

Into the

Bark,

As first green

Shoots of

Spring

Appear.

 

By

Rainbow Reed ©2010