An Apology to the Witches
Harrison J. Hazeldine
Witches, oh witches, how did we get here
From worshipped to deserted like a midsummer fling
Disgraced and erased is the legacy we bring
Deaming your name a slur without meaning
Witches, a legacy desperate for cleaning.
An apology is owed to all those lost to a whisper,
All those set alight due to a black whisker,
All those hung for speaking words that blister.
Witches a word once honoured, now singing lambs into slaughter
Hung, Bound, Burned, Drowned.
The Tainted Fate they’d state
Laid bare at the accusation of a mere child,
stripped of titles and honour.
reduced down to slurs:
A hag
A Heretic
A Witch
Witch is only a slur for a woman who could never be controlled
They feared it, an outcast, a black cat,
With hair as unruly as the bear
Staring eyes as wild as the isles
Elixirs perfectly compiled.
Witch for how you could be so mild yet so unable to reconcile
A nature never to be stowed
A smile that never showed
A force never slowed
Witches a power that nature sewed, once proudly showed.
For they used to worship your connection to the natural,
The way you could command the land like an admiral,
For how the wind buckled under your hand
And How Embers dimmed and struggled on your demand
Witches, once you were honoured and prized as advisors
An Oracle, a healer, a fortune dealer,
viewed as historical, a golden feather
Witches, but their favour soon faded like the changing weather
For just like Hecate, they feared you too
Your power makes them sour, like rotten fruit
Yet like a flower to a bee they cannot get enough.
An enchantress they call you, what a decree
They betrayed you, and replaced you
To cover the quaint
Rewriting history to call themselves, Saints.
Witches, for they may taint your name with hate like Nyx and Hecate
but I know the truth of your fall from grace
The time before cauldrons and a green face
Times when you were honoured and not a haggard fate
Times scattered through history never to be retraced
Witches, haste is needed and an apology is deserved, for you shall not lay disgraced under the earth
Apologies are owed to all those forgotten,
For they didn’t fear you for your hair, as soft as cotton,
Nor for your glare so full of life
Nor for your words as sharp as the knife
Witches for their fear runs far deeper than the hour
They feared you a danger for your power.
For when a woman is powerful and intelligent,
They are a threat that must be malevolent.