Witch’s Song

My woman’s shape is power and lack of power
And there’s a magic in it you have sensed.
Uneasy in your heart, you strive against
My rising voice and my approaching hour.
I’ve borne; I bear; you cannot know how much — 
The mercy granted, pity for your sake.
You tortured me, you burned me at the stake,
You shamed me for your own shamed, burning touch — 
You made me vows your heart could never keep — 
Abandoned me to follow empty drums — 
Swore fealty, then sold me off for crumbs — 
Beat and betrayed and killed me — now you weep
And swear this time, you’ll be a better man.
Even God grows tired. Drink poison while you can.