The Witchcraft

I wear a scar on my left beasty arm.
I can hear my heart.
I’ve got frozen charm.
I am a shark, and my teeth are sharp.
I’ve lost my start
And I’ve broken my harp.

I played it alone in the cold spacious dome.
I was so forlorn,
And I hated its song.
I had a throne - it was made out of stone.
Entwined by thorn,
Where my wings had been torn.

I’ve crafted my spells as they dwelled in my cells -
I’ve learnt to spell
Through water and send.
I know how to tell from the depth of the wells,
The death I can smell
Is the soul of this land.

I’ve put a cross on the days I have lost.
I’ve paid for their cost.
And I buried my loss.
The dates had been changed so the cards can be tossed.
The roads I crossed
Are now covered with moths.

I slept with the sunlight, awakened at nights.
I dreamt of the fights
Of the most noble knights,
Of ladies devoured by the might of their pride,
And fairies that died,
Within the twilight.

I shed a tear on my most cherished dream,
In its lucid creek,
On the very brim.
I’ve had a glimpse at the curls and spins
Of the witchcraft streak,
And its whimsical whim.

22.09.2021