Cracked Crystal

I feel like sometimes my poems are curses.
Wow…I’ve never said that in my verses.

I’ve described them as prayers & as spells.
Though, it’s new to think of them as dark knells.

I never allow myself to wish harm or death.
Though, lately I’ve hoped ends under my breath.

Shocked, I noticed it immediately.
With lives, I’ve never been willy-nilly.

I’m maybe not fair & it comes with age.
This wide remove from perspectives of rage.

I can’t believe I’d let my heart sour.
So, cometh the witch; cometh the hour.

I’ve always known not to give in to hate.
Never let it burn or leave it too late.

I admit it here to restore balance.
Truth is my way to rein errant talents.

 When pushed beyond conceptual comfort.
I am reminded intention comes first.

Not so simple as, “I didn’t mean it.”
More accurately put, “I didn’t do it.”

The world of man can push us to new lows.
Yet, a good witch knows man comes & man goes.

Whether good or bad; thoughts require action.
Without that, there is no real infraction. 

Confession, they say, is good for the soul.
Rough waters will find balance…on the whole.