A 28 line poem written for the Writer's Cramp prompt, 10/9/19.
| They Cannot See
How is it that they cannot see
but look upon her pretty face,
her hair of blonde and eyes of blue,
her dark intent find not a trace?
She's full of smiles upon her lips,
the coldness in her eyes
should have served as warning
of the deepness of her lies.
By night she sits with candle lit,
before her an aged book;
she's thumbed through crumbling pages
scarcely giving them a look.
But there it is, that wicked spell,
one that for nights she's sought
and by the time of daybreak
within her magic you'll be caught.
She mixes the ingredients,
inhales their fumes and steam,
she'll be there inside your head,
she's sabotaged your dream.
To seal your fate, a simple task,
a blade, a drop of blood;
through your mind, your consciousness
she'll never cease to flood.
Blinded by her serpent tongue,
no one can you now save
for with that night of magic spell
you have become her slave.