Witches Chant their Spells (a poem)

The witches chant their spells
And we wallow in our private hells
We listen to tolling church bells
We wonder what compels us
To circle around the cauldron
And obey sinister doctrines

Witchcraft is not always evil
But it is in my little village
Our laws are quite medieval
And we have revoked privileges
Of the saints in the town square

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Lurking (a poem)

Snakes lurk in fog,
slither in early-morning venom,
we’re obscure beasts,
unfit for mortal society;
we’re traitorous,
vapor leaks from depths,
covers fields of blurred symbols

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Night Terrors (a poem)

We snake thru the glorious night,

red lights shining in angry eyes

searching for honey that’s in the

blood-fields, the tundra that’s

thawing as spring comes upon us

like hell-fire visions –

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