The Witching Hour

“How irreparably changed my life has become. It’s always the last day of summer and I’ve been left out in the cold with no door to get back in. I’ll grant you I’ve had more than my share of poignant moments. Life passes most people by while they’re making grand plans for it. Throughout my lifetime, I’ve left pieces of my heart here and there. And now, there’s almost not enough to stay alive. But I force a smile, knowing that my ambition far exceeded my talent. There are no more white horses or pretty ladies at my door.” George Jung


Restlessness haemorrhages heftily at my kleptomania

It’s a sinner’s cud I chew, ruminating as I am, on insomnia

The world outside me sleeps, draped in a white winter blackness

The world beneath me lies placid, morbid in its sullen sadness

Twists of fate and drops of hate glisten in the silvery moonlight

The shadows mock my wide eyed glare, hiding sense from sight

A cry shatters the silence, a shriek only my ears can hear

A vessel runs aground; causality’s casual cadence in crescendo somewhere near

And so I stare, goon eyed and glaring, playing tag with the daring

Into a mist that engulfs my sanity, stabbing at my plexus with its swirl

Gnashing at my nerves, pampering my discord, twisting with its every curl

The witching hour is upon me now, and I’m held captive to its antagonism

Irate and innate she hammers vociferously away, deaf to dissent, deaf to cynicism

And so to fate I commit my plight, to the hope of a time when all is all right

Tis but hope so faint, so quaint, so lame, so cold on this vicious night.


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