Night on Hettie’s Mountain

On this one magical night of the year
the electric, diamond studded stars were
afire against the azure backdrop
of the midnight skies.

Up Hettie’s Mountain, marched Creon’s army
of Zanzibar to the antiphonal hymns
of the spherical pines.

Their leather boots treaded heavily on
the carrageen covered ground, as thunderous
chlorine clouds swirled above their heads.

The blind clock-watcher in the gilded
blackberry tree herald the hour of
the great Sabbath; in an apocalyptic
battle against Good and Evil.

All the Woodside night creatures; witches, ghosts,
and goblins, began to surface from the
dark hollow pit of the underworld, with
heinous cackling wails.

Bloody villainous cries echoed throughout
the mountain as demonic shadows danced
in earthshaking cataclysmic fury, until
the miasma of darkness, and corruption
skyrocketed into crystalline light.

At the break of day the fruits of the Temple
of Life, blossomed from the ashes of death.