Author's notes: This is a poem I wrote as a prologue for my story "Shadow Play". Since it's probably the best poem I've ever written, I think it deserves it's own place in the web.

Tenebrae.

Where darkness rules and shadows play the necromancer dwells.

Sepulchers and forgotten tombs is where he weaves his spells.

Black candles light, white sage burns and incense fills the air.

By blood, by bone, by rotting flesh, by horror and despair,

He calls the dead; he lures the ghosts, the spirits and the souls.

It chills the heart, weakens the knees, this power he controls.

The spirits fly, the shadows dance, in whispers and in sighs,

They reach to him with fang and claw, with wails and with cries,

To have a taste of living flesh, of blood that runs aflame.

He weaves a pattern in the air and then he speaks the Name.

The spirits halt; the dead retreat; they fear his hardened heart.

Like ripples on a basalt sea the shadows depart.

In ash and dust and silence the summoning begins.

Forgotten tongues, forbidden names and unforgiven sins.

From times past, from distant seas beyond the desert sands,

The souls of those untimely dead obey his commands.

Beneath their darkness he can sense the secrets that they hold.

The summoner embraces them and lets the tale unfold.