Some Poetry for Consideration

First:

The sinister ministrations of the witch-child-
How misunderstood.
There is no sinister in the witch-
no ministrations for evil
which bends the will of the world to the witch-
No the witch's will is bent to the worlds.
Bending, bending, bending until
broken.

For only then does the witch become the ward, does the witch become the watcher, does she become the power.
------

Then:

Take time- and THINK.
For this Formidable Force
is causing questionable qualms:
Friend, foe, forlornly forgotten
In favor of such False Fraternities-

Lines drawn in dire circumstances
are often drawn carelessly,
inconsequentially.

Alas! this Abominating Altar
Alters all Persuasions,
Aspirations-

And God the Good Grows Old.
-----

Finally:

Foggy images flash behind the pages:
linen paper filters light, so sweetly crepuscular.
I watch memories and shadows float by behind the restricting barrier.
It makes them seem lovelier- like a dream
Or an idea I once had.
How delicate.  I imagine that they are my past
and my past is fuzzy like flowers, like petals-
Not clear and careful as it really is.

I wish for clouds to muddy things up.
I wish for the bitter taste of clarity to fade.