Another Night
Rare sky, lonely cry,
muscle tight,
dreams of fright,
another night,
the young witch prays,
her long blonde hair,
no braids,
fell down on her delicate shoulders,
but the darkness was getting colder,
during convulsion sobs,
and angry mobs,
coming for her now that she’s been found,
her son,
asleep face down
she looked down at him with compassion,
something she’ll never see,
regret hits her with double pain
drives her insane,
suddenly the boy jerked and shuddered,
the witch stroked him slowly, regularly,
a little later he calmed down,
and he turned his face sideways on the pillow,
away from his mother,
his hair damp and disordered,
his thin cheeks wet with tears,
because he knows what’s coming,
he understood the fears,
but she had to do what she needed to do,
that he knew,
she loved him so much,
and he loved her too.
The moon touched the foot of the bed,
first blindness, then red
the witch spoke in a muffled voice,
her son knew she was dead,
and he also understood she had no choice.
Copyright © Frank F. Atanacio | Year Posted 2009
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