The shadows were long across the vale
as the witch fires rose and flared,
And dreams were strange and lingering
of eyes the seduced and glared,
Shadows writhed obscenely along,
a sight that would scar the soul,
Like fingers stretching to twine in your hair,
to tangle and knot and pull,
Dark hands to ***** for life’s blood scent,
excited as hearts beat fast,
And bitten lips that quiver with lust,
wanting only a feast that would last,
When witch fires flare and the night is too dark,
Hate’s shadows come to play,
And woe be the ones who sleep in the vale,
so serene and inviting by day,
And the black breeze sings a siren’s call
as moon flowers shine in the night,
And the western moon sits low in the sky
turning her eyes at the sight.

JDoyle