In dank, insidious forest glade
the agent's defiant stand was made.
Through ochreous veils where time was wrong,
he strode to places he didn't belong
to thwart the machinations of his shade.
The battle's course was both long and fraught,
for the annihilation of his soul was sought
by occupants of neither time nor place,
who took to wear another's face
to reap the fear as they'd been taught.
The carbonate stench of their desire
in turn fed pillars of eternal fire,
to quench the resistance of men
to their unholy possession , which then
led to flames that burnt ever higher.
The single advantage he entertained
was the love of a girl that never waned.
Though light on life's experience,
she held the world in thrall, and hence
their union was, perhaps, ordained.
Through her strength and his primal will
he countered their unearthly terror until
the hellish backwards refrain
was banished forever from this domain,
and the sycamores in the glade were still.
But owls have now returned to the trees
and dark clouds scud on a strengthening breeze.
A boy spies his reflection in sudden distaste
while a girl hurries home with irrational haste
and tonight, in Twin Peaks, there's a sense of unease.