The witch had her cauldron ready.
It was ready, when eyes could not see.
It was hidden from a world that had forgotten to dream.
When the sun was rising reluctantly.
When the rain did not drum.
When the wind did not sing,
but scream.
When the void was forming.
When the shape was ready,
and it fit a lost someone.
When land had burned.
When bodies had failed.
When there was no way back,
but in dreams.
Then, the witch was pouring all over it,
was stirring it around,
holding on to the spoon.
The witch was summoning days this world had forgotten about.
The latest Dystopia confusion – or what vaccines, glasses, and sunscreen suddenly have in common.
Confusion is one of the most important aspects of Dystopia. It’s this state of the world that keeps burning into the skin like a nervous flickering – and suddenly you’ve bought frog legs from the weirdo at the end of the road, while your neighbour was hanged for a miscarriage 20 years ago. Let’s name…
Keeping the connection – About taking the next step
I remember standing on the same field where I spent most of the past unnerving months. Listening to the same three accords throughout a song reminded me of time passing, of the feeling of spending time with people while doing something special together. Studying for an exam, rehearsing a song, going on a trip -…
Of memories and ashes
Once you were thereTwo minutes afterWith coffee and rainI will rememberThe way that we wereThe world has felt whole. Once we were thereIt was a ThursdayWith tea and a smileI will always rememberIt made me forgetThat the world has got holes. I want this to beThe one thingTo hold on toTo fill up the holesWe…
Mistress witch writes 
One thought on “Tale about summoning”