The Witch’s Fall

Dark, black, and bellowing the Witch
  arises from her throne;
made of black antler and stone,
  a fearsome sight to see -
Obsidion crowned with dead stags' horns,
  old skulls propped upon them.
And her eyes are a blacker blaze,
  a terrifying fire,
raging against the spell that woke
  her early in that year -
before the spring had come with warmth,
  when her rites were to be
peformed by those under her dark spells
  that she might rise and consume,
feeding off the Earth's awakening,
  and making black all that's green.
And then she deigns to rule the summer,
  which ought be hot and lively,
but under her dictate is cold,
  and frosty by the morn.
But her power then wanes in time,
  by autumn it is fading,
when her wintry sleep draws near
  and she rests from her plunder.

So she has sustained her life
  a thousand many years.
But now the hero foretold of yore
  calls her from her winter sleep,
with spells stronger than ought she's cast
  to bend her darkness to break.
For in the bloom of life and sun's warmth
  that fills up most of year,
she draws deep into her void
  where her heart is empty.
But in winter the Earth gives not,
  but weary then it sleeps.
And so on waking in the cold
  and into the dark,
the Witch could not rely on life
  giving up its power.
And though she blustered with fury
  to terrify the knight,
the secrets he learned in volumes
  of the ancient East,
Proved to vanquish that Sable One,
  the Queen of the Night,
That Consumer of Forests Deep,
  Eater of the Hollows.
Death she died in the winter's hold,
  right upon the solstice.
And the knight and all the people
  burned her on her bier.
And her ashes laid under the glade
  that once her spell did wither.
For even hellspawn by men must be
  buried with some honor.

Featured image: ‘The Witch of Endor,’ by D. Martynov (1857), image in the public domain.

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