She of the Craft
She enters the room
All eyes turn
All eyes burn
Her skin
Her skin is cold
Colder still to the
Touch of tender
Lustful gazes
In Crazed mistrust
Of the heart
Of God
Of Man
Of Woman
We are lost
Lost are we
Lost to the touch
Of angel dust
She leaves the room
Leaving them chained
Manacled
Bondage bound
Lost unfound
They remain
Insane
Within the insanity
Of the night that
Beckoned them to
Forest depths
Her skin is ash
Her skin is frost
Her skin is sand
Her skin is lost.
Scarred earth
Charcoal soil
Freshly cut primrose
I’m bleeding
I’ll heal
Though thorns
Have cut me deep
Can u see them?
Hear them?
They dance in shadows
Circles by twilight
[...] Read more
poem by David Lacey
Added by Poetry Lover
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