She was a moon witch

kneeling limply to her demise.

Strangling her lungs,
the ashen limbs of flames

fanning wide

the tunes of her despair
Of Aphrodite's lair.

Its honey gold light,
the moon spill
amidst the black sea

of the night,
Blood curdling screams of the Cyprian Wind

in gloomy shadows, 
in black corners of her mind.

​

Born of travesty
A tragedy

that strikes upon

the chiming of the hour
Blasphemy
It scribes in stone

That doom days collapse 
Like ancient blood towers

Barbaric powers that

burn red like the bleeding sky
Tis wise to hide lest 

be devoured alive
torn by silver-coated knives
should the blood moon arise

and the moon witch's cycle

revives.

​

Catastrophe

Poor, unfortunate soul

Petals rain down from her rose

Vows of chastity

Vanish quick in the waves of her

rolling hysteria.

Bone-chilling were

her vulgar pool of raging fire

which melts her mind away

The air tarnished by her womanly blaze

In the darkest stretches

of her coven,

a cautious distance, she maintains

Curse the cycle of the moon witch!

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