a broken spell

throw in the frog into the cauldron, it leaps out unable to take heat croaks a dismal tune: lower the heat will ya? but the old witch smirks, begins to sing an ancient song that causes laziness to come alive, astute awareness becomes like a fog where the heat and the ice of dead souls no longer can be told apart! cast in the damned roses, tears of saints to make a cauldron bubble: with snakes and toads putrefied, slimy, grotesque to flowers wanting to bloom, take in the rot that permeates, try to choke down a vomit quite bent on release for the smell is a witch's tomb, her mouth is like a cave of slain bodies bound, gagged, left to decompose till the roots burrow in, drink in the nectar of wonder, conquests made, love spurned. ah, the saint's sacrifice began to understand this song, of tears gathering momentum, waves forming more waves as they cascaded to become rivers, streams, of cherished memories no longer remembered then did the lazy spell begin to fade, to moan, to struggle for frogs jolted awake from nightmarish stories now clearly seen, of toads, serpents and scorpions they never did lull the living to a stupor, only a whisper that sacrifices are for naught! nothing, said the saint is ever wasted when fire burns high within, the physical is one reality, there are many oh what lies the witch began to scream as her work is being unraveled, nonsense it is when dreams mock truth, my truth is worn on this body where i hold the sacred fire of sacrifices, the delights of wicked flesh causes me to tremble with unearthly joy, i am both, all, don't take this away while rivers flowed away, the river of life gentle finds the cracks in all her lies: alas the voices of saints did say, we cannot join you in this unearthly lie. then the frog croaked once more, landed in the garden of no more pleasure, found laziness in a pond, tongue leaping out as it captured a fly, it's not all that bad really, to live a common life when marriage of saints and the black arts is quite contemptible, to a simple frog not wanting to be mixed up as a witness to such strange mix! how can it be? all that sacrifice for nothing? how it be, all the delights without a bill? even faust would agree when it comes to a choice of life style, having lived it all.