Free Verse
The Witch's Cupboard I Accidentally Inherited
The label warned: Do not open. But I did, anyway. How uncanny the cupboard was— for that, I could not prepare. A small cauldron, still hot and steaming, coated in dust of centuries. Seven jars of preserved— something (Do I even want to know?) Eye of newt, one handful, Silver Moon, a tablespoon, A braid of hair, tied with twine. Salt—enough to cover the house, Finger bones, polished by use, Pine needles, threaded with gold. A letter, to be written tomorrow, Ash, wrapped in linen, Runes I can not recognize. There's a tin of dried breath (label smudged), Matches that only light when someone lies, Cloves of garlic that hum at night. The back corner is hard to reach, but I can see a mirror, so small it can't even show the truth. And something carved on the back— I'm not quite sure, but it might spell: Do not feed after midnight . And there's The Book, that dreads the touch, inching closer to my hand.
By Imola Tóth10 months ago in Poets
Anthology of A Fractured Heart
The end of it all is a silent acceptance, or flipping of a switch to suppress the storm. At some point, the storm that doesn't leave you ends up calling you it's home and finding secret places to hide and devour your heart one beat at a time.
By Jayni Cole10 months ago in Poets
