THE WITCH

Her smile was a mezzaluna,

her only sigil,

its glint in her gait and

eyes.

She wielded its cold blade like

a baton in a grand

orchestration of

perplexity, a perpetual fugue of

pervasive perfidies,

a perfected path

to perdition.

In a spell of continual, corroding

confoundment,

she bound earth and sky,

drowning out the

footsteps of winds and waves.

Each day was a gleeful Sabbat,

a ritual feast of

drawing the Sun's crimson,

bathing her bloodless

instrument

in an ocean of warmth,

before I could commit His light to

memory.

What could surfeit this vampire?

Not the blood of a

Universe of Suns.  

Her spirit walks abroad,

stalking His light,

devouring every 

golden ray in

my skies.

Upon the wing of darkness she bolts

past the light.

© 2015 Lily's Verse

Lilium Candidum

Image: MAY MARGARET

Source: www.pinterest.com

Artist: Frederick Sandys