witchhunter

for many seasons till the soil
reap the grain
endure the pain
of knotted back and calloused hand
Innocence is so quickly spoiled
the harness fits
take up the bit
how fleeting is that fairy land
Childhood's promise is wild and tall
sharp is the blade
the cut us made
and soon remains a rigid plank
Planed smooth by the constant fall
of broken dreams
the silenced screams
of nightmare, which is life made blank
We touch the stars with infant hands
fantasy floats on every breath
nothing awaits when innocence ends
but drudgery, boredom, pain, and
death