At midnight

The moon becomes as radiant

As the sun at noon.

The witch become the Goddess,

And I,

One without magic,

Can see through the alabaster doorway

To another world,

Where the dead walk again.

Its sky seeps into our realm,

The color of blood,

Slowly drying

Until it fades

Into the black hue

Of embers sitting in the witch’s cauldron,

Beating out their last heartbeats.

As time passes,

From the dark void

Does new life rise,

Merging with the wind

That fans a tiny spark

Into lively flames.

Orange breaks through

The shadowy sky,

And the veil is pulled

Over my eyes again—

But she,

The one I met on Samhain night,

Remains a Goddess.

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