The infamous Witches’ Sabbath only existed in tortured confessions.
Your prompt is WITCHES’ SABBATH.
Tonight, rapt, we ride
Our Dark Lord waits, he'll love us
When no on else will
They never really happened… right?
The infamous Witches’ Sabbath only existed in tortured confessions.
Your prompt is WITCHES’ SABBATH.
Tonight, rapt, we ride
Our Dark Lord waits, he'll love us
When no on else will
They never really happened… right?
Chants rise flames flicker
Dark lord comes on cloven hooves
Which ones will he bless
I see joy in the individuals wrongly accused of witchcraft:
Moon—a pale hostess,
Witches' feet forget the ground,
Sabbath—rapture's nest.
Sky—broomstick's comrade,
Laughter stitches star to star,
Night—unbuttoned, glad.
Cauldrons—fathom deep,
Bubble over with old spells,
Sabbath—wakeful sleep.
Flight—an art form shared,
Winged shadows kiss the air,
Joy—untamed, declared.
Rites—a woven thrum,
Each witch her thread in the hum, Sabbath—a sum.
Dawn—reluctant peep,
Stories sown are theirs to keep,
Sabbath—joy creeps.