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Witching Hour:

by Saroyan Coles 9 months ago in nature poetry

Narrative Poem

Witching Hour:
Photo by hp koch on Unsplash


I lost my muse

I cannot write a single couplet

Nay a verse

The swing is empty,

hold on tight,

against the ropes—

As I watch my legs,

propel me into the clouds:

Higher, not hindered

by gravity...

I could nearly grasp

the haze of blue...

Blessed be-

My heart, is a filthy liar


I lost my muse

He dares

to badmouth himself

My room

as dusty as a old book cover,

my mood


like the earthy smell

of a unexpected rain shower...

Salted tears,

of mixed signals;

Refusing to yield to the whims of fleeing emotions .

Where delighted memories

once stood plentiful —

Estrella sees the moon, as a half grin


he sees the moon full circle,

like a werewolf bays,

and howls..

Is he in the middle of painful transformation?

Or hunger?

Oh cosmic mother of all,

whose breast fill,

the night with milky starlight

twinkling, twilight, tenebrous

As legs dangle,

her toes are tickled,

by cool blades of grass—

As the man

on the moon remains


barefooted Estrella empathizes

with the earth-

As the werewolf,

bares his teeth

in the shadows,

Estrella’s stare,

as cold as silver bullets...

Wide-eyed, whimsical, welcoming

the witching hour...

nature poetry

Saroyan Coles

I want to empower others with my writing. I have always dreamed of seeing my name, on something.

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Saroyan Coles
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