The Witches’ Curse
Roots gripped bone.
Flesh gave in.
The bark split open,
And swallowed his cry.
The water waited below,
But he could not fall.
The sky looked on,
But offered no hand.
His knees bent forever,
Locked in the climb.
The branches pierced,
Where breath once lived.
The face hollowed.
Eyes turned to knots.
Mouth sealed with sap.
No voice remains.
Children whisper,
When passing this shore.
That the tree still groans,
When night draws near.
He is bound.
Not dead.
Not alive.
Only waiting.
The witches laughed,
As the tide rose.
Their spell fed the bark,
Their spell drank his soul.
He cannot sleep.
He cannot break.
The witches turned him,
To a tree.
There is no escape.
The rule not to break is clear
never double cross a Witch.
About the Creator
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