Witchunters

We live in her legacy

And rise from her wounds. 

She healer

weaver

grower

            reader

She seeing

feeling

cooking

caring

She call

She     gather

She know. 

Done to us

and

   by God

   by us. 

   By us,

   by God.

   By us. 

So next time you feel

scared

and look outward

accusing

some Other soul of your soul’s undoing

remember that

seed which grows to nourish

sits as close to your roots

as seed sewn to persecute

as bloom sings songs of these lands.

You are kin, true

to witches lost 

for power

for prejudice

for prayer

for possession.

Good. Well met, heathen, 

by that family of hunters who share

your eyes

your hands

your homes. 

If your work

here and now

is truly 

to harmonise,

to offer this eulogy as an anthem by which we shall all march to heaven on earth,

then ask yourself:

Are you growing strong with ancestral light, 

or dancing in shadows

cast by burning stakes

upon ground you have claimed

to keep yourself safe?