Magicks Demise Poem by grace mariner

Superstitions can be products of a diseased mind.
Efforts to control that which cannot be controlled.
They can be the excuses we use to justify our behaviors towards that which we fear the most.
Fear and ignorance, a most lethal brew creates,
quenching that demon which holds countenance in our heart and mind.
An exorcising of unholy proportions making its proprietor sanctified, in his cruelty, his ability to damage, to maim.
By nature you were a reasonable man of rational clarity.
But that fear you imagined brought out your most primal, rudimentary self, causing you to call to council those who believed your witches tale, hearing and sharing it amongst the clan.
Run mouse, as I unseated the giant with soft words and wicked tears.
But my familiar hears you scratching about, even so many miles away, craving the demons kiss.
Your words and deeds brought pain, but no victory my dearest one.
There is no victory in injuring the weak, no dignity in cowardice, no righteousness in hate.
You believe your own lie when it was you who cast the evil eye and bid the the frog leap into your own grave during the decaying moon.
But you did so much more when you cast the blame on the innocent!
Destroy the black cat as she is the carrier of your demons, reading your aura, seeing your destiny.
Hang the witch who is the only explanation for the unexplainable!
An agent of evil, the baby killer, thriving on the blood of your innocents!
Those same innocents you would have abandoned.
Destroy that which reminds you of your own evil and villainous ways!
So preach your false certainties, deny your own failure and create a martyr in the process.
You and I both know where you would be tonight if you had not ran so far away...
in your devils arms, isolated from all that is outside our paradise together, tasting her hot kiss, under the deer moon.
Very powerful magick indeed!