Witching Hour

Unknown my world is proclaimed to be,
An outcast I am born to be,
Living in the dark,
Residing alone in seclusion.

Dark is my sanctuary
With every movement as I reclaim
This dark portion, this dark imagery,
To make me aware of my empowerment,
This sacredness of life,
Living to the fullest
With essential driving forces within
My palace of the strange and the mundane.

Within the air of a frosty breeze,
The whispering sounds of eccentric incantations,
Casting the odd but fascinating,
As turmoil is the fuel to every creation.
“Destroy,” I chant aloud,
“Destroy to construct once again.”

Thus in the depths of the earth
And mysteriously divine,
In the depth of the night
The rise of a waxing moon
Is the sign of the rise to witching hour.