The Witch of Reasons

The Witch of Reasons

She walks where questions gather thick,

in corners where no light will stay,

her breath a hush of knowing cold,

her eyes that weigh what minds betray.

They come to her with trembling hands,

with secrets stitched beneath the skin,

for she can taste the truth in lies,

and pull the buried darkness in.

Her fingers trace the silent air,

as if she reads what none can see,

each whispered doubt becomes a thread,

within her woven prophecy.

No prayer will turn her gaze aside,

no pleading voice can make her blind,

for she was born of sharpened thought,

the final judge of humankind.

She speaks in tones both soft and grave,

each word a blade, each pause a snare,

revealing things we lock away,

the hidden rot we cannot bear.

And when she leaves, the silence screams,

for nothing false remains in place,

the witch of reasons takes her due,

and leaves the truth upon your face.

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