The Witching Hour.

The fortress of darkness beckons me

Autumn leaves gently grasp the depressing stars above

Night falls into a bottomless pit of uncertainty

An abandoned forest, dressed in fire was where I lay

And out of those flames entered an archangel

Thine eyes have never beheld such beauty

Ah, but he was wise

For my skin touched epic tales upon scorched hands, unclean

He let out a black-licorice laugh that shook the Earth beneath me

His language swagger taunted my fears

Then I knew

Twas the witching hour

I slowly drifted away, aching for the summer night to envelope me