Witch

 

In the deep black unfathomable  
where nothing burns of where there is no air,  
in the white ashes unreadable  
as others cannot see yet still they stare,  
in evening’s wicked, winding stir.  
 
A female muse like that without a care.    
I have been like her.  
 
 
I possess, endowed, an evil spree,  
insanity, my bent of village spells  
on every inhabitant and flea;  
my brewing for the vermin with me dwells,  
from cavern home the smell’s allure.  
 
A female like that is a mystery.  
I have been like her.  
 
 
A rutted road where dreams awaken,  
I scan the scenery to memorize  
and see where I am being taken;  
the executioner I recognize:  
I hear the sounds of chain and spur.  
 
A female like that looks death in the eyes.  
I have been like her.