✶ season of the witch ~ poem ✶

The creaking woodland whispers your name,
Calling to you as a moth to a flame
All these wishes for you to be tame
There you’ll be free from all your shame

Never cared to know your story,
Yet it is you who they frame
Thinking it’ll bring them glory,
To hunt you down like wild game

They wish to tie you down,
Burn you at the stake
Or would you rather drown,
Be carried away by the lake?

Why must it be a crime,
To do the things you do?
Nothing seems to matter,
For all we do is a taboo