In the dead hour just past midnight, when the spirits awaken
and trawl through the disruptive minds of the night
wanderers,
the witch and the hunter emerge from the shadows of the tombstones
as the whistling pine trees called them here this
night.
Their eyes brighten, flames alight, as they take each other in
over an expanse that crosses the oceans and the sky
and each breath they ever took.
A barely visible silken thread stretches out between them, joins them,
forming translucent images that float through the air,
taking shape as their constant need and insistent desire,
the urge to possess and be possessed in an ancient
ritual
that pierces their skin and enters their soul through eyes who
see no others.
Stealing time with the urgency of the condemned,
it's the witch and it’s the hunter, whose fate it was to
meet their rapture,
yet their destiny to never unite.
This took my breath away!
ReplyDeleteI like the line "stealing time with the urgency of the condemned" I feel like that now that I am becoming older and can see how much time I have wasted trying to get over the past.
ReplyDeleteHot damn & whoa. Great writing, as usual!!!
ReplyDeletehello shadow its dennis the vizsla dog hay oh the poor witch and hunter never git to meet??? that mayks me sad for them!!! i hope they can meet sumwun like fileep gaston frum the faymus dokyoomentry ladyhawke hoo can help them!!! ok bye
ReplyDeleterather sad to never have a chance to get together...despite the gossamer chord that connects...perhaps in the next life?
ReplyDeleteLiving in constant darkness blinds one to available means of escape.
ReplyDelete