Wilted Sage

she sat there among the sage brush
brushing her hair
only to find it not there
in the mist of her hazel eyes
everything was a blurb
all actions had succumbed to images
of word
chortles and chuckles
shackled in strife
was this the beginning or the ending of life
had she become a picture about to be hung
or were the colors of epic about to be wrung
she wished to be served on platters of where
for she had lost the counting of plaits in her hair
each little rung had been woven with care
a ladder to the heavens of the coven she did share
now the witch to the watch that she had been bestowed
washed away with the ripening of currents she sowed

actions speak louder than words
when there is nothing to be sung
but now in the spellbound
time has become undone

gone are the days when the masses followed
the scriptures, the lessons were now too hard to swallow
the new had become the olden of times
no longer did the church bells chime
for justice in peace

quelled by the execution of brotherly love
sisters released the cooing of dove
only to be shamed from those who thought themselves above
the message came too late
and was considered too lame
bequeathed by ordinary dames
where was the glitz and glam
anything presented with less was considered a sham
society could no longer hear above their own roar
they carved out their own eyes to that which did not soar
to invest in the future
was now a false pagan ritual