Witches Gate

L.T. Garvin

Drawing near to Witches Gate

the spires rise in the distance

burned out frame

house of crime

vicious seekers came one night

two brothers at home

shot one in the head

found the wall safe bare.

Burning everything

but the truth

hot flames mocking.

Murdering madmen

stealing away

wrapped in night’s wicked cloak.

That ground was always cursed

since the annals of early time

when Esme ruled over

those shadowed fields

pouring potions into sand

summoning spirits from the shallows

cackling curses in the air

spitting sorcery into the wind.

The ruins of the house

flirting there

stalwart and still

mesmerizing,

beckoning

nature lovers, road weary travelers

adventurous fools….

And sometimes

when approaching

as the western sky strikes low

the house burns once again

in a ghoulish, blood red glow.

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