I love this! So funny!

The echoes of defeat

There was a sound in the darkness and it announced war.

"Witches!" it howled. "We are taking back our sons, our daughters!"

Swords drummed on shields to hammer in agreement, and to drive their foe out of their homes. The women heeded the call. They gathered, tattered-robed and grey-haired or beautiful and lush. It didn't matter. They were witches all.

"We will suffer you no more. You die this day!" the commander bellowed once his enemies stood before him, lined up neatly at the edge of their village.

The army charged. A thousand voices roared as one to the beat of hooves racing down the hillsides that surrounded the enclave. The witches did not run. Instead, they knelt on the ground, and from pockets and pouches came small figurines. Each one carved from bone. Some yellow and brown with age, some fresh as winter snow.

The witches chanted through the din. Their words of old lighting up the night sky in an eery glow. The air seemed to release specks of light as if the stars had fallen from above to join in battle. The soldiers stopped and watched the spectacle in confusion.

"As you wish," a woman cackled.

Spirits erupted from the lights as they were driven from beyond the veil to protect their mistresses. They struck, slaughtering with ferocious determination. One by one, fathers fell to the hands of their children. Begging, forgiving, pleading, cursing, and screaming. The wraiths did not care about their father's words, they simply murdered -- anything to please their mothers. And so the roar of the living became the wail of the dead.

More bones for the witches' protection. More figurines to be carved. They would be ready when the next army came.

There was silence in the darkness and it announced defeat.

*************

WC: 299

Hi ruraljurorlibrarian,

I really like the imagery of this piece. The words flow very nicely and create a sense of peace somehow, if that makes sense.

A little nitpick:

>each awake when tomatoes bloom

I found I lost my immersions with this sentence at the word 'tomatoes'. Might just be me missing it's meaning but for me, it broke the vibe of the poem.

My favorite sentence:

>each season a funeral procession

I find this sentence to be really powerful and an excellent ending to your poem.

Hi there Lost_Carcosan!

Thank you for your feedback! I'm glad you enjoyed my poem. Good catch on the meaning of 'trope' not being entirely clear. I've replaced it with tumble.

Thanks again!

Fire

There's a fire in my heart.
Where it sits and writhes and burns.
And I tire and I tumble from the venom that it spurns.
Does the world I interact with see me kindly or with hate? Would they rescue me, or watch me as they leave me to my fate? Could I stand up to the bullies and the terrors in the night? And how do I discover if these dogs will bark or bite?

There's a fire in my brain.
When I'm tired and depleted.
So I wonder and I ponder of the ways that I am treated.
And do I so deserve this? Should I find a clever quip? Fight back or scare it off —force the narrative to flip? In my favor or against, do I really care at all? Is the likelihood of victory still worth it if I fall?

There's a fire in my stomach.
And I'd rather it was not.
It feels queasy and uneasy and discordant in that spot.
Should I even bother then, to investigate this state? Would it let me turn the tables or already be too late? Can I force it, can I chase it, from the darkness of this pit? Can I stomp and scream and holler, or erase it with some wit?

There's a fire in my eyes.
And here it feels okay.
I will use it and peruse it just a little if I may.
Let me find the clever meanings. Will they answer, will they fuel? Will they understand my gesture or decide me to be cruel? Can I keep them dancing maybe, to the rhythm of this beat? Let me coax them ever gently, to their imminent defeat.

*************

WC: 284

Edits: formatting and the likes