Where Legends Gather - The Harbinger of Doom v1.0

Where Legends Gather
The Harbinger of Doom
v1.0
7.22.14

In the woods
Life creeps and crawls and squirms and clicks,
With the many-legged bugs and beasts
That stomp the ground, to snap and crack all twigs and sticks.
Rivers rush and gush and shush and push
While the birds chirp and the crickets sing.
Beware, however, beware sudden silence:
Should the sounds drown out,
Should nature's tune go mute
And the ancient trees no more moan and creek,
Should your eyes be drawn to distant shadows,
Beware, beware the messenger.

If all wildlife
Dare not make a sound,
And airborne dread begin to weigh you down,
Look around for emerald lights
Attached to a thin,
Distant,
Figure,
Standing still in the dark.
If your blood, warm,
Pulls outward in all directions,
And the cool air slaps against it,
While a trickle crawls up your spine,
The messenger is out for you.
A crow takes flight,
A dark wind that bounces nearer, nearer,
From branch to branch,
Eyes intently locked with yours,
And calls:
Caw,
Caw,
Caw,
Its eerie cry sure to silence you.
Still the distant emerald lights
Slice through the air,
Like scythe to a harvest.
Beware,
For the messenger draws near.

The airborne dread turns liquid,
Heavier than before,
Rains down,
Makes splashes to your steps
And seeps into your soles.
The dread lingers and grows
Yet no matter where you go
The distant figure closes in,
With a tap,
Tap,
Tap-tap
Of sticks against the ground.
Now the messenger of brittle sticks
Is attached to you,
With a bond that drains your strength,
Steals your life,
And further brings your doom.

I've heard of only few who've lived,
And all've said the same:
The dread persists,
But now in physical form.
The figure from the shadows jumps to you
And murder, crowstorm—
Crows circle overhead
Crows cry, caw, call,
Circling overhead,
All the while terrified
Petrified
Frozen
Stunned
With fear
So immense the heart plummets
Into worthlessness.
The emerald eyes you see belong to nothing
Of this world.
Those who've lived, live by luck.
The weakened scarecrow surely drained enough
To claim the next victim to walk and tread
That twisted treeline.
But no one dares set foot in there again.
Not us, oh no, not us,
Only those brave enough,
Those we call
Legends.