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Traci M. Poli

The Witching Hour

Be silent friend.
Our restless demons return to haunt us.
Our sleep the midnight hour rend.
With formless words they do taunt us,
The whispered truth, a wicked bend.
The evil dead rise from the deep,
Where righteous souls their prison keep.
They're nightmare prophets, darkened sages,
They speak of fear throughout the ages.
They tread the halls down far below,
From whence they came, no one knows.
From their lips come twisted lies.
They see our fears through hidden eyes.
They tempt us with the web they weave,
They smile at us, but they deceive!
Don't walk with them, though they entice,
The rage of angels is the price.
Each night's a lesson, learn it well,
The Witching Hour is sixty minutes in Hell.