The Ghost Forest

The ghostly forest stands among the clouds
Its pallid leafless trunks,
The rib-bones of some long dead giant
Grope skyward in supplication.

Icy mists race through the ashen trees,
Fell spirits freeze my living heart
While the earth throbs with primeval power
And memory of the sun grows dim.

The voices of the ghosts shriek warnings,
But my journey must continue on.
Upon the rocky knoll I plant my staff
And speak the ancient incantations.

The hairs upon my nape stand erect,
And lightning lights the naked trunks,
Which glow with eldritch hue.
My staff sings its making song.

I am filled with the voices of the living
Crying out their fear of death.
I feel the birth pangs of the universe;
I now see the ending of all things.

The ghosts depart and silence reigns
The staff stands smoking in the mist
While I sleep and dream tomorrow's world,
I am needing nothing more.

Awake, I stand within the ghostly forest
My staff clutched tightly in my hand
The long-dead trees stand as silent sentinels
I make ready to depart.