Listen to poem:
Later Than Witchcraft
Written: September 22, 2026, for a contest sponsored by: Matt Caliri
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It is later than witchcraft,
later than lanterns that flicker in frost,
later than cauldrons that simmer with spells,
later than charms the sibyl once cast.
Cacophonous hour, hollow, and hushed,
yet courage kindles, a candle’s elfin spark,
wooing the void with a mere claim.
Later than witchcraft, yet nearer to flame,
we walk unbroken, unbowed, still aflame.
The waning embers of ancient artifice
do not vanish into katabatic abyss,
but remix —
spirit folding where shadow kiss
sigils sinking, sparks feeding genesis,
emeritus fears collapse as Fall chrysalis,
falling into sunlit spell of our wrists.
Where once twisted the cosmos,
with otiose orison of bliss .
Now we find Alchemy in the womb of Earth:
The grimoire gathers, dust sway
Their fragile pages giving way
to the still sovereignty of the clay.
The forbidden fire ventures forth,
and gardens still flourish
each seed a consecrated nourish.
Shades spectral scatter into nothingness,
to pulse of seasons transience,
weaved not as ghosts,
as the pale patina of vanilla reality.
cynicism is not crumbling –
it is a deeper dawning,
a crucible where myth sheds its dross,
to eliminate eerie emblem of enigma
hallowing numinous of human hands,
Rainbow unhitched from gold of phantoms.
arcs using only physics,
its brightness that’s derived from the light
and the gaze that beholds it.
Brittle, the bones of dogma are softened,
turning into humus,
nourishing organisms that require no belief
The lone witness.
We no longer reach for stars,
to justify our shadows,
The sacred has migrated,
from heaven into human reach.
Meaning emerges in social relationships
a ritual of seclusion, giving way,
to the common discourse
myth rewritten in blood.
but with acknowledgment.
And thus the ghostly lens disappears,
does not disclose sterility,
yet raw untame life-death—
elemental powers in flower
when dependence on artifice has shrunk.
The immanent frame is no cage,
but a canvas unburdened,
where our attention
becomes architect of meaning,
and the world, vibrant still,
awaits our witness.
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