Does the breeze raise your skin?
Does the sun catch your hair?
Do you feel the soft grass,
By the stream when you're there?

If the good witch catches you
She might just let you be
But if the bad witch catches you,
She's the last thing you'll ever see

Flowers wander the seasons still
Lusting towards light, an aromaesthetic full bloom

In the coming chill and gloam rolls a fog,
dark and blight, bringing a slow collapse of skeleton

Lifeblood eclipsed with gloom and brume,
imbue faded with wane and wither

There is strength to a wilted flower
now blind to it's blush whorl, a spinning gown

Head held heavy
but still being held

Moss on my trees,
Falling in my windows.
Brought an aching to my knees
And a haze that only grows.
A leap towards the pine
With the tip of my spine.
A look in your eyes,
The witch hazel colored highs.
Like the fog in my morning,
I drive my sun to you.
A honey dew heart that will swallow me soon.

sorcerer belish enslumber cracks three points
infine sound weave ebb under slumber access
Waves screech bedside calculations wither joints
Crashe Metre reaper birth soul convalesce
shore alive Golden egg ingress and egress
short comings awry pur-golden desert sand
Ogre transactions haunting Course sea and Land

I tried to be a witch tonight,
followed the the moon's seductive rays.
How frightened was I-- the terror!
To see such light, not in day.

She howled like a wolverine,
coming up from the mountain.
She hushed away the good, the angel,
and there was space
for dark to prey.

These times, I see,
the feminist inferno--
She sings, "I feel the blame."
When men on Earth shun out her sorrow
She clings, and prays, and calls my name.

An old hollow bowl
Inside it, a dead owl
Filled with charcoal
Buried in a hole
Under the light pole
On the crossroads
Opposite the graves
Near the witches dome
Where believed,
The dark spirits roam
I know this, coz I am,
A wandering soul
Others, the witches stole
I am a carefree witness
I saw, what he did
I saw what all he buried
I also saw the body he hid
And he thought,
Nobody saw his deeds
Planting a dead owl as a seed
Like some secret treasure
That no one can find
I looked closely
He buried, jewels of all kind
He has no idea,
What he had done!
The witch knows it all
Soon it will be his call
My friend, beware
Of the watchful unknown
There's an empty grave
Waiting,
With your name alone!

©sim

A woman stands strong and sensuous and proud
Her mind a fractured mirror cloaked in fog
Shard by shard
The bayonet finds her way, following the sweet scent of the ****** rose
Wielding her Scarborough Fair
The sass of Parsley
The wisdoms of Sage
The touch of Rosemary
The passage of Thyme

The woman
Born of the dark side of the moon
With powers untold
Able to twist and bend the spindles of shadows and time
Fair-skinned
Lips full and glazed with cardinal sin
Slick locks of ebony
A perfumed 500 year blur
With the night's lunar charm that twinkles in her eye
And butterflies that swoon for their Madama
She
The blood child born of the union of the sun and moon
The black sheep of the dark arts
Is one with the most beloved of Umbran treasures
Is the sweetest cherry with a long-forgotten radiant smile,
A harsh destiny
Who looks to the left side of the moon for the upcoming chaos.