When you serve one who is wicked,
That of a witch,
The fence is black and iron instead of picket,
Rather poor instead of rich,
The walls drip thick red liquid,
Everything torn without a single stitch.
Smiles soften, they harden, then finally fade,
All the good turned somber,
All the good pervade,
The beauty squander,
Nothing but shadows and shade,
With too much thought to ponder.
Locked away inside a tower,
Though bigger than a cell,
The witch holds all the power,
She imprisons you with a single spell,
Once a sweet girl is now sour,
On freedom she no longer dwells.
Never warm it’s always cold,
The sky above only cries,
The girl must do what she is told,
Yet the water never dries,
Only room for death, the dying, and the old,
For this is where evil lies.
Written on February 8th, 2017
Written by: Michelle Corbin
Copyright © Michelle Corbin | Year Posted 2017