The Witches Killed Him
The witches killed him, not the flies
that descended from the bluest skies
They watched with hollow, empty eyes
as distant bells began to rise
The wind fell quiet on that hill
where hearts grow cold, and time stands still
No prayers were whispered, none were said
They left him broken, cold, and dead
Not fate, not chance, nor heaven’s cry
No distant angels drifting by
Just shadows deep, and cursed hands raised
to end his nights, erase his days
And though the sky stayed pure and wide
he lay forgotten where he died
No flies, no storms, no thunder near
Just silence thick with hate and fear
About the Creator
♿ V+ Marie381Uk
Poetry has lived in me since childhood.
Ink spills the feelings words fear to say.
My poems heal, some haunt, all are pieces of me.
Stay and read please. Like&follow me. If my poetry touches your ♥️ maybe leave a small tip
#Marie381UkWrites
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