Witchcraft
Witchcraft....
Some champion this idea
As they sell this notion....Sold!
Novel though, it is definately not
A twist of lime perhaps
To contemporize its design
Unto the times....
Always, evolving and adapting
This ancient one!
Although his days as of late
Have been somewhat frantic
Chaotic, to say the very least
Desperation....
As the sands of his millenniums
Quickly, disappear from within his vile!
Schreechingly he shouts
While the bells of his sorrow
They begin to toll....
Taking hold, of all that he may, receive?
Clinging, to his very own hopelessness
Which he himself, long ago, misconceived
Trapped in this crustic bottle
Wailing and gnashing
These crumbling teeth
Slinging his far away dust
Fading....
Upon the wake, of his worthless broomstick
Worthless, to the eyes, that can truly see!?
Beyond all of these his lotions
That have chained so many
To the concepts....
The longings....And the beliefs....
The potions, that made him, their king!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
....Witchcraft....
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