Witches Brew

 

Haggard, dishevelled, bedevilled they stand,

round cauldron, eye of newt in hand.

Old warped bones, the innocent moans

from victims of these three crones.

 

With a flick of weathered wrist,

into the bubbling mix, a twist

of virgins innocent blood,

'Hmm this will make the broth taste good'

The witches lick their wicked lips.

Into the pot they throw some low wage slips,

'Let poverty rip throughout the land'

 

As they dance and sing,

eyes glinting in the moon,

into the pot they fling,

old dreams forgotten too soon.

The three laugh menacingly as out of her hat

the head witch pulls out a plagued rat,

'Some disease to keep them on their knees

Just what these people need'

 

The black cat watches intently,

as ever so gently,

witch number two,

places some grenades into this evil brew,

'Let war rage', she cackles.

The cats hackles are up

as it let's out a hiss

At the cauldron's frothy, bubbling mist.

 

It's almost sun rise,

the witches nearly done for the night.

Just a drop of diesel,

slickly topping the sickly stew,

'Pollution - let us poison the planet too'

The bubbling mixture with the hideous vapour,

needs just two more ingredients, ink and paper

'Media propaganda, journalism untruths, 

Into this mixing pot let's add some news'

 

Haggard, dishevelled, bedevilled they stand,

round cauldron, eye of newt in hand.

Their witches brew will tear the world in two,

if you let it get into you.

 

 

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 Peace, Love and Poetry,

Kyle.