Come in for a "spell"

Okay! I do not have hardly any time today. Mo (Lulu) is home today and as usual when she's home we have to go to town and run her fifty two errands. Yes, I know that she's old enough (I mean she lives on her own now. Kinda) to go alone but I enjoy spending the time with her. So, I have a ton of things I'd like to blog but they will have to wait. So today I'm going to give you what I hope is a treat. It's in keeping with my "October Ghosties" series but it's not a ghost story. It's not even a story. It's a ...wait for it...poem. Hey! You in the back of the class! I do not want to hear any groaning! Poetry is good! And you're going to like it! (And if you don't, don't tell me). Just kidding. I'm open to all constructive criticism.

Anyway it's just for fun. We were driving to pick up Mo from girl scout camp one year (I think she was like 10, so eight years ago) and it was an hour and a half drive from where we live. Along this one back road (and I do mean back road) we passed this old cemetery on a hill. And me, being me, and extremely bored, I started writing a poem in my head. And the following poem is what I came up with. I'm also giving you a picture, to set the mood. I hope you enjoy!



The Spell


In an old dark cemetery
Upon a lonely hill
Beside a fallen oak tree
I feel night’s eerie chill.
The moon is full above me
The ground wet beneath my toes
To stand here is to court Death
Or so the story goes.
Two candles sit before me
A stick of incense burning near
I chant a secret litany
My voice rings loud and clear.
It is not fame or fortune
Nor beauty that I seek
It’s for Love I’ve made this journey
To the graves by Deadman’s Creek.
My lover lies with another
Her skin so ghostly white
As I call upon dark powers
To end her life this night.
She stole him with her magic
A bold and daring plan
But not a game she should’ve played
For I hold the winning hand.
Her breath will cease, her soul take leave
Before the dawn’s first light
And I will have my sweet revenge
With the work I do this night.
Her death will not be called a crime
No fingerprints to be found
Although my ma calls it a sin
To wish her in the ground.
And as they put her in her grave
Beside the coffin I will stand
As we walk away that day
I’ll take back my lover’s hand.
It’s sad to have it end this way
A part of me will miss her
Backstabbing lying slut she is
And yet she is my sister.*
So if you’d steal another’s man
Bear my tale in mind
It’s hard to tell just what might happen
If you choose to cross that line.

SMT 07/00


*My sister has never ever tried to steal my man. Just wanted to be clear on that.

And obviously, when I copied the poem it had a date on it. So I guess it was 9 years ago. =]

Hope you enjoyed,
♥Spot