Von tempsky's ghost

 How did he hunt the night itself
the foul cackle brandishing hardened wood
and blades of jadestone
the artist of the eternal warrior

the grit in the gut
deep inside the bush
the night would come alive and destroy order
as if the universe conceded

Darkest nights where traps and tricks and death await
Only a ruthless hungry hardboned lover of the darkness
would march into that