Witch by Francesca Hunt
A weary wench, withered and worn,
Wailing and weeping in the wind,
Wandering woefully where she will.
Others watching, whispering 'witch'.
Silent stares, shivering spines;
She sinks into the sodden soil.
Showering stones, shaking sobs,
A single sigh signals her sorrow.
Tears of torment, troubled and torn
Tarnished treasures, trembling the taste;
Thunderous thoughts taking their time,
Tempestuous torture telling its tale.
Callous calls crack her countenance,
Creeping curiosity confusing her calm;
Cornered, caught, crucified, killed;
A crimson current, curdling and clear.
Drudgery dampened, dreams disowned;
Dawn of deliverance, departure day;
Discordant decree, devoid of destiny;
Destitute, dumb, delivered to death.
Posted on 16/07/2015
by Kieren Taylor