Knots (Sorceress)

Some things burn in open flames,
while others prey on glowing embers.
Many try to forge a way
through fire and brand to smokeless futures.

Some may find things in the way
as believers would in Pagan towns,
to be strewn aside and led astray
by the golden hems that line their gowns.

Fall in haste from silent stilts
when height falls short as time does wilt.
Lust and envy drown the stage
as wrinkled age becomes a plague.

And in your books of devil's art,
the symbols cut into your heart.
A simple hair will seal the trade:
eleven knots with whispers made.

On the fair side of this blue world
a soul lies grey from many a girl.
Every prospect dark and dead.
Every hope lies laced with dread.

At the hands of magicians' play
from books as dark as blackened day.
The spells they blow between the strands:
eleven knots and deathly chants.

Across the world, a soul falls ill
with breath as cold as Winter chill.
His hair in knots three seas away;
she chants and ties his love astray.