War March
by P.H. Wise

When darkness comes, He does not come alone.
In the hills near the old Harris place,
I saw him pass with all his company,
black upon the deep shadows.

Through parting clouds, the full moon shone
Casting her light upon the trees
That creaked and groaned in the changing winds
And a presence more felt than seen
froze my spine and held me fast.

It was the hour of skittering,
and there was no veil in that place
to ward off the call of Dionysus.

They came in black and moved like shadows.
My breath and body stilled,
And I prayed desperately that I
might there elude their sight

Up they came, in twos and threes,
shadowless beneath the moon.
Primitive spirits of the forgotten past,
moving now with a new sense of purpose.

Ranks they formed, and companies,
and marched grimly towards the distant city lights
To the place of concrete and steel

Spirits beyond count there were,
For All of faerie had emptied into the night
Dryads, Centaurs, sprites and nixies,
Niads, Nymphs, and elves, and pixies...
With the forest in their wake

There was no laughter in their eyes
No seductions planned, no playfulness
Grim faced and fell
The ancient ones had come to war.