Poetry

Witch Hunt

You called me a liar; put my hand in the fire—
You’re surprised that it came out unscathed.
Threw me in a tank to see if I sank
And you stood and you screamed while I bathed.
Took me up high and told me I could fly,
And the angels held me through my fall.
Though I often cried, I stuck to your side—
That’s the greatest mistake of them all.

Philippa Martyr

0 comments
Post a comment