A Rage…

image

I have held the raging beast,
With its horns,
My arms aflame,
With raging agony.

Just hold on for a moment awhile,
I smell the victory,
With the rising sun,
In all its glory.

Arms blooded,
The task herculean,
Muscles torn,
Misery yet unborn.

The wispy promise of victory yet,
The drunk revelry of success.
Against all odds,
Life flourishes.

I throw all my rage and emotion,
Hideous beast my soul’s creation.
Beloved, deadly – a dangerous combination.
A beauty, a siren, a nymph, a tease.

Advertisements

The Witching Hour…

wpid-unnamed-1.jpg.jpeg

The witching hour,
Spawns dark spells,
By the witch’s tower,
In the bogs and dells.

The witching hour,
Innocents sleep peacefully,
The wicked one’s power,
Steals their essence gracefully.

The witching hour,
The witch chants and cackles,
Her victims cower,
Beneath the spikes and shackles.

The witching hour,
She reigns it all,
Cauldrons spit and shower,
Potions of darkness and fall.

The witching hour,
The witch brewing her evil,
Her face hideous and sour,
Dances with the devil.

The witching hour,
Her breath bloody and rank,
Draws sweetness from night flower,
Scenes of death – pale and dank.

The witching hour,
Swollen with greed,
Felled by poisoned dower,
To the crows – her, we feed!