From whence the last of the streetlights flicker,
upon darkened roads move a strangely sight.
Ghosts on parade–they straggle, and chitter;
human-like creatures sequester the night.
Borne of the oak-wood burnt up by a star
excised from the sky by radar and plane;
from out of the root, fur, flesh, and char,
a sound cracked the mouth of lion’s mane.
Perilous, our world, ‘neath foxfire lights–
forgotten, confused, for tall-tale, and myth,
but, the soil recalls our greed, and our blight;
our dominion fallen, kingdom to grist.
Hail, them! The New Fates, their breath-loom, and thread,
Hail the New Gods, for the old world is dead!
About the Author
Silvatiicus Riddle is a Rhysling-Nominated Dark Fantasy & Speculative Fiction Writer and Poet. He hails from the city of Gotham, and it is there that he hosts a glaring of chthonic gods disguised as cats, a hoard of books, and all of his imaginary friends. He studied English and Literature at Kingsborough. He has appeared in Abyss & Apex, Dreams & Nightmares, Enchanted Living, Eternal Haunted Summer, and Spectral Realms, among others.
http://www.Facebook.com/SilvatiicusRiddle Instagram/Twitter/X/Bluesky: @Silvatiicus