The witch’s hour approaches-
What an unearthly time to be alive,
To open your eyes in fear,
To shut them back into illusion.

In your tired veins, yesterday’s sorrow sneaks through;
Do they burn with numbness?
Does the air caress your venomous pores?

This girl is a witch;
A witch is a saint,
For all the saints have confessed
To having sinned.
Can a god resign?
Can he seek forgiveness?
I hold him in the palm of my hand-
Tired creature,
Old with time,
Dark with worry.
There are no resurrections left to save
What is to be forgotten anyway.

The witch’s hour passes by—
The almighty can be put to rest once more;

Sleep in a mattress of distress,
Slip in oblivious bliss.

All my potions turn pink
Like my tongue
After too much candy.

I can't bring myself to ***** my finger,
Let the blood bubble in the mix.
I can't handle newt's anything.
I can't even balance on my broomstick.

I am a bad witch.

People are afraid of me,
But's that's mostly my lipstick shade.
My pale skin
And sharp teeth
Aren't seductive,
Or menacing.

I speak in tongues
And girls wink at me!
My hexes are beestings
I am beat.

Nothing helps rejection
Like a little hair of the dog.
Maybe cat whiskers, too.

Or apple cider,
If you can't handle
A proper witch's brew.

Spiders shy away from me,
Bats blow on by.
Cats don't cuddle up to me,
My broom can't help me fly.

And then I see her.

Hair like cobwebs,
Nails like fangs,
Candy red lipstick,
A sugar rush in my veins.

She put a spell on me.

She repressed a grin,
Barely bared her teeth,
Squinted her eyes,
Put her mouth near my cheek...

She whispered to me,

"Your hat is floppy,
Your elixirs- what rot!
Your call is sloppy
I like it a lot."

She gave me a kiss,
Turned me into a witch,
In supernatural bliss...

Now this is real magic.

Mother of the Moon,
Shaman of the Sun.
Extracting all the darkness
from the eyes of everyone.
Draining hue from skin,
Soft soulful bones.
Shadows of her velvet cloak
follow footsteps home.
The witch amidst the forest,
The light within our palms.
Dwindling breaths confide
in the cold before the calm.
Bearing portals in her womb,
Maternal one, obtuse and sweet.
A smiling jaw (phenomenal),
will lull your dance of life to sleep.


© 2016 D.M.V

It's more like a time bomb, waiting to explode. A heart she can't heal, no potion she could brew, no crystal she could charge, will ever save her from her heart. It ticks like a worn out clock waiting to stop. Each moment, a possible self destruct. Each day, a cheat off death.

Somewhere in your cold heart
I wished for a sparkle of heat
You gleamed before everybody
Thought I would feel miserable
Never, I felt more free since then

I stepped forward to melt you
You melted mine instead, in love
Dozed me into you, with a smile
It wasn't too late to know the truth
You've been playing games with me

You were conquering my whole heart
I hailed your name and dreamt a lot
Held my pillow closer, cuddling gently
Slept with a sweet smile on my face
Innocent, I am, you turned to a witch
Hunting down love, a Caesar of hearts

A witch, indeed met me so a mole where willing made her but a match to liken potato and let her teeth beside with a grail that she'd throw a kiss into a prance when beyond a dark corner near square could race to our legs with a carton of eggs and nearer the place that toasted our evening outing perchance with dinner hid in graveyard.

i.

Pink doesn’t play into it, that delicate
petal of perfume & flower stuff.
She abhors it.

Red suits her better.
Red for Fridays & red for Aries.
Red for the blood her dagger could draw.

Her seal of wax is no
rosebud adhered to
fine paper.

Warrior, she escaped its letter.
With Roman candles & Roman sandals,
sword, wand & chariot,

defender of her Eden.
Seashells are her votive gifts, the
stars of her Atlantic.

It is within her reign of Camelot.
At the edge of the Earth,
her kingdom dreams.




ii.

Blue maid
a curious ***** in her armour.
But she wouldn’t flinch

if an army of soldiers came crashing in.
They are hunting the witch.
A woman can never have such power.

It is reserved for the patriarchy
to wield at will.
Up it goes.

They can ***** steeples with it.
They are stoking the fires & sharpening
the axe with it.

But threats of torture
don’t make her beg, plead or recant.
She is guilty of nothing.

Even broken on the Catherine Wheel,
Athena still keeps her
bow & quiver intact.

I'm glad that they don't see me much,
'cause they'd blame me for all the sins.
I healed a man with single touch;
They called me witch forever since.

They don't remember countless times
when they got help with no payback.
They hate me after — mind you — once
I forced a man out of my shack

and he went missing. Folks assumed
that witch's the perfect one to blame.
I clearly pictured me entombed
as they were screaming like insane

to **** me, break my house down.
As if that drunckard on his pat
could not get lost in swamp and drown
while running scared by a bat.

Whole town is against me now.
Whole but a lonely little maid.
I think for that i shall endow
her, if she's not afraid.

I'll grant her powers I possess,
No secrets I will left consealed,
She will control this evil place
And hopefully, it will be healed.

Those people's hatred gave a birth
to evil essense in this land.
Without my kin it will unearth,
Against its wrath they won't withstand...

But I will leave this cursed lands.
I'll be accused for curse as well,
as noone here understands:
I did not cast, I curbed that spell...

On Proctor’s ledge I made my bed
Following the ****** scores
Through grey fog, thick as cold death.
Screaming gallows want my head...
To dance across their blood stained floors.
This opaque sky is my one true friend  
Oh the exquisite view it does afford!
Peering down those rotten trap doors.

Puritan villagers spew hate
Lighting my ***** feet
As this frayed rope keeps me safe.
Smooth grey rocks hidden away...
By broken sticks and amber leaves.
I left them on the ground where they lay
Just to preserve this caliginous scene!
Eighteen others shall soon agree.