the nameless ones

if we can give a name to the old powers
then would the fear of them refill our hearts
corrode our minds and shrivel up our parts
we'd see them once again in their grim towers
bodies of children slain at magic hours
and adults slain by their mysterious darts
their corpses taken off in creaky carts
rain falling to the ground in bloody showers
much is forgotten but not the darker shame
of impotence confronting what we know
lurks in the deepest places of the mind
much easier the old grey goat to blame
to send it to the places we dare not go
knowing that we have not left them behind