Witches Hour

I walk in the mist of the hour,

the caress of burnt leaves mix in the air,

the moon shadows itself upon my face,

my skin so pale,

the air so cold,

feel the pain, that once was, that still is,

feel mother nature caress my weiry feet,

the earth so grounded,

this graveyard so cold, so peaceful,

in this time I walk

the Witches Hour.

Categorized as poetic

By Verlock

solitude can be achieved even in the busiet of places.