Broken-record

I.        
       
I wish I was a Witch        
imbued through grace        
beget by the knowledge of Truth        
to combat ignorance        
       
I'd proudly proclaim the title        
bowing to Mother Nature        
for gifting me the moniker        
of so brave the women        
—maiden, mother, and crone—        
who suffered under religiosity        
from pointy fingers        
and judgmental tongues        
condemning them to death        
       
II.        
          
Bearing false witness is cloudy        
and crackled, an overcast desert        
with no direction for the soul        
       
If there is any inspiration        
among the burned        
we've been marginalized to        
it would be this:        
       
An atmosphere that shades        
its levels to hide, dusk unzipping        
nightfall, like a lady's dress        
happy to release the veil        
from all pretense        
       
Dancing with a thousand swirls        
of rising residue, accepting        
the burning as an honor        
for the trueness of her soul        
       
Just like Pluto's smile        
she saw it all come down        
baring the war of Truth        
all of Helios's wrinkles        
from the injustice        
of her death      
       
III.        
       
The story is old, friend        
like a broken court record        
played by pious hypocrites        
to elevate their "righteousness"        
       
Just stop. Look,        
       
Artemis rises to attention        
a perfect sculpture of modesty          
in a pool of darkness        
holding herself high        
in a subzero sky        
       
On the horizon,        
there are animals grazing        
unphased by her bow        
or Orion hunting        
       
Because here, we are a mouth        
all of us        
and we grate our wisdom        
into what suits us          
surviving on what we've swallowed        
       
IV.        
       
Some do nothing with doctrine        
but roam with no direction        
as if from desperation        
creating an illusion        
of not being cowards        
afraid to stand alone        
for their truth        
       
But they are, nonetheless        
for bearing false witness        
on the innocent        
to elevate themselves        
       
V.        
       
The stars stopped        
paying attention long ago        
wincing through all those cinders        
rising from the earth        
with particles of dust and flesh        
       
These pious paupers weave roads        
of the world, twice and thrice        
and many times through        
but none of them lead home        
or expand their knowledge        
beyond what they hold        
       
They accept subtraction        
must be made for safety        
to create security        
and dare not defy        
the bristle-mustached men        
or "virtuous" women        
who administer the judgment         
       
They dare not compromise        
anything less than their whole selves        
making it virtually impossible        
for the world to evolve        
       
They've swindled themselves        
and us, too many times        
to unknot the past's ties        
       
VI.        
       
It hurts when that dress falls        
and the pulse of the universe        
is borne by a scream        
of the falsely accused        
       
There is never an, I'm sorry      
or media army        
yelling, Hear ye!        
Hear ye!    
that can right a wrong         
or reconstruct ashes        
of those long-lost        
       
VII.        
       
Source,        
If there is any inspiration        
among the religious tide        
we're being marginalized to        
let it be this:        
       
I wish I was a Witch        
imbued through grace        
beget by the knowledge of Truth        
to combat their ignorance        
       
Because if a fraudster, rapist        
and liar can become president        
then surely I, as a Witch        
could set this broken record straight        
       
~