The Revenge of the Witch
They killed her lover. She just could not forget.
The raven circled thrice around the old oak,
But settle silently on her wide shoulders.
Dark was the raven, dark the woman’s dress
Dark the environment, all dark except for
The glowing sanguine hair that fluttered in the breeze.
She stood tall in front of the old sparsely lit castle.
No eerie sound echoed in the dark corridors,
No black candles lit any of the bleak rooms.
Only ravens cawed huskily as they flew
Around the tall turrets or rested on ugly gargoyles.
The dark woman moved towards the main door.
Her eyes glowed in a flaming carmine power.
She looked up towards the ugly low clouds.
Power exuded from her and the storm began.
Electricity snaked down and hit the upper balustrades.
Hellish fire sprang up and soon the castle was in ruins.
Revenge completed, she turned and walked silently away.
One day they’ll burn her at a stake. She shrugged.
She was not afraid of death. The crow cawed hoarsely.
Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2021
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