When Witches Cry

There is a knowing of this land that you will never understand.

There is an essence, gossamer to the touch that you will never make robust.

There is a beauty so refined that you won’t find in mind.

You will call her witch.

You will covet her, lock her up, maim her and shame her, attempt to tame her.

You will castrate her kindness, negate her wildness, fear her and lear her and never hear her.

You may mistake her, disgrace her, rape and fore sake her,

Penetrate and not defend her,

Force yourself on her sweet surrender.

But she will not relent and she will not crumble,

For she has come here with a purpose and the courage of her love will make you humble.

For too long she has denied the damaged tears of your destruction,

Swallowed her wisdom for your corruption.

If you don’t see her in the trees then you are blind to beauty

If you don’t hear her in the wind then you are deaf to truth

If you don’t honour her then you burn in the embers of the fires she starts

And maybe you will never know that when witches cry they cry rivers of tears to your own heart.

Joanne King