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Witches Gate

Drawing near to Witches Gate
the spires rise in the distance
burned out frame
house of crime
vicious seekers came one night
two brothers at home
shot one in the head
found the wall safe bare.
Burning everything
but the truth
hot flames mocking.
Murdering madmen
stealing away
wrapped in night’s wicked cloak.
That ground was always cursed
since the annals of early time
when Esme ruled over
those shadowed fields
pouring potions into sand
summoning spirits from the shallows
cackling curses in the air
spitting sorcery into the wind.
The ruins of the house
flirting there
stalwart and still
mesmerizing,
beckoning
nature lovers, road weary travelers
adventurous fools….
And sometimes
when approaching
as the western sky strikes low
the house burns once again
in a ghoulish, blood red glow.
smoke-238243_1280

Published inpoetryPoetrystories

21 Comments

  1. I bet this tale was told around many a campfire, right? Perhaps at a sleepover, too! It’s certainly apt for this ghostly time of year!

  2. Powerful and mysterious. Plus, In a more subtle and secondary level, I think it could even refer back to Witch-Hunt … a very well timed poem for Halloween… Nice one… Best wishes. Aquileana ๐Ÿ˜€

    • Thanks so much for the gracious compliment, Aquileana. I think it could refer to the Witch-Hunt days also. Thanks for stopping by my blog and reading. Best wishes right back to you ๐Ÿ˜€

  3. You have a knack with this genre and style, Lana. Loved the mood of this! Great photograph which really added to your words.

  4. I’m learning to only visit your site in daylight and with company at hand. Another excellent piece LT, and another jittery night awaits…

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