Three witches in the forest of my mind,
cornered me and in my ear they whispered,
“This concoction, my boy, is the one you need.
Don’t question us, nor are we in want of your
answer, your future is to where this will lead.”
Swish and swirl went the pungent contents
of their cauldron, bright green and then red.
With sealed lips I did what they told me to;
the events cast no shadow, am I to blame
for the damage and despair that followed?
My comeuppance arrived in the form of
dark bruises on your arms and your mind.
I’m not unwilling to share the burdens,
For it was my crime and you got the punishment.
Both of us can only hope for a revaluation
Of what we truly deserved, maybe it’s time
I question the alchemy of my potions,
Created by those who fly into the moon;
and cut down the trees that are harbingers of doom.