Cusp of Power

Wide eyed, helpless he gazed through his new mother’s entranced steel-grey orbs. The cosmos mirrored in the sacred water on this Samhain night, bathed in magically majestic blood moon. Reflected as it was in both their souls; ripples through stars, each one a gift. A single birth and death on the very cusp of the veil, a perfect way to live forever. Thought the power-hungry young witch.

Laoghaire’s meticulous scheme to dispatch and consume the making of her body, radiant new life, was in veracious ritual motion, void emotion. Mothers natural selection.

The tiny infants body wriggled, gagged and choked; crystal fresh water, stars and planets rushed down his throat. The deep iridescent fairy pool of sparkling emeralds consumed new life with the boundless universe. Laoghaire’s fevered eyes drank in every detail of her secret sacred bairn.

An exchange with the realms of darkness, immaculate life for multifarious transcendent power.

© Natasha Sinclair. 2019.

Wasteland Witch

Whisper they would; what harm is there in hushed voices?

Heard in the distance; with a smile towards my face, tightness around my throat.

To my door, each one of them would knock; in need of an ear, to shed a judgment free tear.

A closed mouth; their release and relieve.

Whispers feed whispers; taking wicked twisted form.

Filthy crooked fingers point in fierce accusation; neighbour and friendships turned sour.

Speaking in tongues; evil and lust for persecution, the execution.

Tales twisted unrecognisably; cures contorted to fatal blame.

It’s good to have a scapegoat and I’m one of theirs; purging their evils and guilt with gangland misdirection.

Trials fuelled by bloodlust and power; there was only ever going to be one verdict grown from whispers; “Witch!” “Guilty!” “Sentence her to death!”

Strung up naked, centre stage; a place I never wanted to be.

I only longed for peace, quiet, to be free.

Angry eyes burned back in hate; none of them seeing their burning Witch.

Inward looking desperate to purge their cruelties in my bodies destructive flames.

I am Issobella; their last Witch strangled and burned.

I am Issobella; their Wasteland Witch.

They claim to have learned but they still don’t see; times have changed them little, their Witch is still me.

(c) Natasha Sinclair 2019, All rights reserved.