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The Old Woman

Atop a tree near a river,
Sits an old woman
With hair of silver.
She tells tales of love,
Tales of a phantom,
Tales sent from above,
From a presence I cannot fathom.

Near the water,
The grass has cut ends.
It's yellow and slaughtered,
But the lady's stories calm the bend.
Her spirit is gentle;
She loves to be kind,
Only in her,
There is never a heart to find.

She is stuck on the tree,
Never to anytime be free.
For she has lost her humane heart;
The demons tore it apart.
She has an evil past;
It has not gone so fast.
Her tricks are wild.
She took me,
A young child.

She bruises,
She bloodies,
She uses,
The bodies!
The old woman lives a lie.
She lures you with stories;
Her instinct is to pry.
She lures with calories.

She bakes pies of poisoned fruit;
She frosts cakes with oil and soot.
She captures you
In stories of how she lived.
She sticks you
To the chair with adhesive.
She grabs her steel,
Kicks with a booted heel.
I comprehended far late,
After I was what she ate.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2016

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Date: 4/7/2016 7:01:00 PM
Wow!! I love your story. Hugs Eve
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