Mysticurious

"Powers of moonbeams and fast falling stars, bring us together, under Venus and Mars. Blood from the fault-less, upright, demure virgin. May your powers compel us, as we plunge your blade in. Wearing your ichor, pure blood of the gods, honor your servants, revealing your love. Spirit takes new forms, releasing your power, come into us now - at this fateful hour."

*

13 maidens, unwanted and unlucky

as the hallowed number 13, they went by

13 members of a coven, in Kentucky

13 broomsticks, but none able to fly

*

13 voices speaking chants, to the darkness

seeking favor of the moon, to light their path

13 witches, though they preferred to be called, mistresses

acquiring powers, with the strongest witchcraft

*

13 letters allowed in a name - some required to be cut down to size,

perfectly arranged, a magical seamstresses act

An honored coven tradition, a sister's sacrifice -

joining bonds, with one sacred pact

*

Down a long, dim lit path, just a step off, Baker's dozen

was a tiny old shack they ran, to earn cash

Though the town folk shunned and shamed them

they all made sure to pay them, for their potions and bags of bone and ash

*

On the thirteenth of each month, at the same time of the clock

they gathered groups of seekers, searching for their loved ones

Ones who'd unexpectedly passed on, leaving the family in shock

needing guides, to loosen both pockets and tongues

*

Stirring until the fire was hot, waiting for the screaming cock

with candles lit, prepared the table, for a seance

Defiantly they'd gripe and baulk, until the voices start to talk

then, throwing money at the source of their purveyance

*

People converged from miles around

conversing with the dead, buried in the ground

Bringing wealth and patronage to this tiny, little town

until the night that she arrived

Filling the streets up with her fright-

in her worn and tattered deathbed, sleeping gown

*

She was fragile and frail, with exposed entrails

though, none of the thirteen had called her

She arrived out of nowhere, spewing sorted details

of the experiences she'd had, under the earth

*

She said she'd been tortured, dug up and burnt

in the attempts to keep her, in the ground

No-one believed that a corpse could be hurt

they stood speechless, not a soul made a sound

*

And then, evil laughter, arose from the deep

as sinister as they'd ever heard

So vile it woke, all the dead from their sleep

a virtual theatre, of the absurd

*

The thirteen gathered, repeating their chant

but the dead refused to return to the dirt

They wanted new bodies, their souls to recant

a new life, on the edge, they would flirt

*

They began taking over the patrons at first

seeking out those who longed to be close

To the loved ones they'd lost, easily coerced

releasing them, to be vaporous ghosts

*

It didn't take long, for the word to reach town

as the spirits, began to take over

The holy started to burn that ol' shack to the ground

covering the ash, with their lucky green clover

*

Reduced now, to ashes, as the thirteen looked on

the coven intact, in their hearts

They began to call on every spell lost and forgone

to break this dark spirit apart

*

Then, on the thirteenth try, as the thirteenth girl cried

"I have the answer we've been looking for...

The potion required, to make the spirit subside

is one hidden deep down in our cores"

*

Collectively we,

pointing to the #13,

hold the key that we need here, inside

The answer to all of our problems

knowing the spirit intended to conquer and divide

*

As long as we cleave close together

the magical bond shared, will ward off attacks

Because we are all parts of a tether

and awareness was all that we lacked

*

They stood at the edge of the graveyard

over the place that the spirit came out

Threw an incense, that had barely been charred

and waited for it to fadeout

*

Then they chanted a spell

they'd never chanted before

It opened the bars to a powerful cell

then they sealed it up tight, at the door

*

The story is told that they broke up

the 13, all went their own separate ways

But on nights when the moon is turned way up

you can still hear them, out in the gray