RESURRECTION OF THE BURNT
With the snap of her neck
On swinging branches that were cold
Setting fire to her wit
You could never burn her soul.
Her tongue deemed diabolical
Incantations that cast a spell
Of intellectual opinions
Of reasons and knowledge
That your blind ego couldn’t tell.
Cauldrons bubble with anger now
Her soul haunts the creases over your brow
History and fiction, both treat her as a glitch
Guiding a man towards the fulfillment of his wish
Was what people could never handle in a witch.