THE WITCH AT THE WINDOW
The witch sits at the window looking out
Seeing nothing but her own self no doubt
Reflected in nature’s grass and trees
All she sees is only that with which
her proud sense of herself agrees
So she cannot interact with it
And if the world presses itself upon her face
She screams in horror as if attacked in disgrace
By swarms of insects ready to sting
This is how it is here with us with almost everything.
All the nothingness that ever was
Is shrivelled up into the void of non-being
A hole of empty self-righteous laws
Of arrogance and self-justification non-seeing
Existing as a thing but not alive as being.
And the difference between living being
And nothingness is infinite.
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