Michael Wilbanks

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The Witches Come

Change this light from this vacant jade
Faded silence forming this velvet shade
A vapor’s care drained of all reward
Beneath your eyes the bruise’s discord
Nesting joy in your heart and pain retained
In the forced disturbances that you blamed
When the riots waged in the empty rooms
Mask the witches on their war brooms
Headed east toward the rising sun

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