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![Image for the poem - - - BEWITCHED - - -](/images/uploads/poemimages/222052.jpg?1448133162)
- - - BEWITCHED - - -
I am bewitched
There in the Autumn mists
In tangled woods where spectres kiss
Fortified by the moonlit glow
And the lamenting crows
Her phantasmagoria
Plays upon my diorama
Casting a wicked light
Of tempting horrors
And forbidden delights
The sacrificial lambs
Line up for the feast of the damned
To bleat upon the cusp of death
As they gaze on the depths
In the grip of madness
The clock is still turning
In the face of darkness
When midnight is burning
I am bewitched
She is the devilment
The turmoil that will not repent
The unbridled rage in my heart
The beast that plays the part
Her phantasmagoria
Plays upon my diorama
Casting a wicked light
Of tempting horrors
And forbidden delights
Words upon frigid winds
Sweetened just to be soaked in sin
From her toppled spires, she sings
Of cold foreboding rains
In the grip of madness
The clock is still turning
In the face of darkness
When midnight is burning
I am bewitched
I pound at the walls
Of her prison
To behold the wonders
Of her prism
Her sweet tragedies
And vile fantasies
Take me away
From my own
Her phantasmagoria
Plays upon my diorama
Casting a wicked light
Of tempting horrors
And forbidden delights
In the grip of madness
The clock is still turning
In the face of darkness
When midnight is burning
In the grip of madness
The clock is still turning
In the face of darkness
When midnight is burning
I am bewitched
I am bewitched
(c) 2015 Frank Green
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