Incantations

Pick the wind from evermore
past the windows of tomorrow
whims and wants, stick and stones
bare this manling's little soul
to desolation in isolation

loose the bonds of innerself
within, without may silly roost
neither man, nor boy, or foundling
just sleeping soul looking inside out
never to grasp any self in thoughts

brood the mind wandering inside
gone mad, insane yet knowing still
thoughts to speak yet never will
out of control, even loose in bowels
loose in all the heart that dwells

incantations done, apply thrice
in his tea, you do drop add in  
to cure lover's infidelity
revenge I do offer thee
never more will he marry

for his soul shall roast
on heat of sorrowful loss
his heart will be torn
by eternal guilt
he will die a knave, a fool.