Kindred Stride

copyright © February 17, 2011, by P.R. Lowe

(written in October,1984)

There, where lesser hearts may sway,

she finds her home and makes a way,

into a chilled and biased place,

where rules may change without much trace

of wit or warning in their coming.

Listening. Still, to distant humming,

she finds solace in the silvery moon

and satisfaction in things hand-hewn.

Passing through a sun-streaked room,

she gently grasps the symbolic broom

and smiles for those who fantasize

the warty hag and broom that flies.

As fun a thought as Santa Claus,

“Halloween” gives children cause

to laugh and tremble in their britches

at the thought of wicked witches –

yet here, her countenance grows sober,

like December, like October —

for in her studious ways she’s learned

that many an innocent was burned

in religions name, and yet

religion was the sole forfeit

of those who did the persecuting,

pillaging farms, burning and luting.

It seems a turn of irony

that even now she isn’t free.

She takes a cloak down from it’s hook

and gently holds a shadow book.

Absconding into even-tide

she marks the earth with kindred stride,

and glimpses once her herbs renown,

that heal the sick within her town,

(the town that uses well her garden,

yet remains her constant warden)

then turning off into the trees,

she takes a path that no one sees,

into a dark and reverent night,

to exercise an ancient rite.

There among the autumn leaves

souls unite, and her heart grieves

for those who make the connotation,

that the devil’s her salvation ,

when in fact, in all that’s said,

it is the church that gave him stead.

So as they gather hands once more,

a thousand minds begin to pour

into a unity of one,

and as this evening’s work is done,

one or two just might be stricken

with a knowledge that’s deemed wiccan.

To walk the earth in faith’s disguise

may bring about a God’s demise,

and although “witch” is just a word

that may cause gall when it is heard,

it’s roots are long and ages old,

and in semantics it is told

it stems from “wicca” which implies

to bend as a willow, craft of the wise..

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