In the woods where the whispers roam
There’s a tale of a witch, she’s never alone
people are mumbling she’s even friends with the ghosts
of long begone hanged men and the empires foes
She’s got powers so dark,
no more hope, only cold at heart.
Even the moons radiance ceases,
in every of her appearences,
bursting hearts to pieces,
Silence so loud its bursting to pieces.
The keeper of the ancient lore
who’s seen the world change, time and time before
the one who knows the secrets of this forgotten land
As she holds the power in her crooked hands.
The witch tales, the witch tales,
the men’s version of a fairytale
Whispered in the night
Filling you with fright
She could kill, slice you open
heal your wounds with potions croaking
face so ugly yours goes pale
Sounds more like a horror version of the handmaids tale.
YOU ARE READING
Midnight Confessions
PoetryUnveiling the raw truths of growing up under the cloak of midnight. Midnight Confessions is a poetry collection that delves into the messy, beautiful journey of growing up. Of what it feels like being in the moment, feeling the a gut-wrenching heart...
