A Pagan Place

Listen, you disbelievers,
Do not scoff and turn your face.
There is a devouring power held,
In every slough, burn and stone 
Within this alien, pagan place.
Just lay your hands on this chill rock,
Potency of time locked in its heart.
Or hear some ancient oak tree moan,
Winter wind-thrashed in the dark.
This moor has seen eight thousand years
And will see many thousands more
Though blasted cold by Winter's tears,
Frost hard, to Spring's, raw, slow thaw.
This is a place of hills and leaden sky
Where only the rugged, dun-folk roam.
With its boggy mires and windy heaths,
Where baleful, coal-black ravens fly
Over wondering, woolly upland sheep
And a lone shepherd's crumbling croft.
This never was a welcoming place 
For some foolhardy man to dwell.
A lonely place, a mystic place,
Long snared in some pagan spell. 

(Author's note : Inspired in part by The Roaches, a rocky, wind-swept moorland between Leek and Buxton in Staffordshire. Wild countryside and wild, sometimes severe weather. Hauntingly beautiful to see and walk in.)

Tags: scary, dark, imagery,