Ichabod's Return
by Alan G. Phillips, Jr.

Night of the moon and a cold, icy breeze;
dark silhouettes sway
beneath thick, sullen trees.
A sylvan path, near the base of the bridge
marks the tread of the nightmare just over the ridge.
Wayward pilgrims in a long, walking train
crossed over the threshold in wind and harsh rain.
Can you hear the drama
traced by hoof prints and pain?
Twilight, then darkness,
door to the insane;
he was there and then ran
past the Hessian's pursuit.
Took a right way, then left
for an alternate route
into unholy lands,
wielding murderous hands,
stalking blood as a teacher,
that itinerate creature.
Just one step ahead of his unsteady gait;
don't look over your shoulder
until it's too late
to cry out in fear
for someone to hear
all the loud, beating hearts
when the glory departs,
returning life to its sod–
souls lost to Ichabod.

"Ichabod's Return" appeared previously in Midnight Screaming, volume 2,
Number 3, Summer 2010, pp. 13-14.


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