The Sickle Of The Witch

The sickle of the witch has struck me again, blindsided deadly blow,
Rising from my past tearing open wounds I thought to have closed,
She instinctively knew where to slash, just like as many moons before,
Pain is seemingly more intense now, all resurrected again from long ago,

Viciously swinging her sickle she tore out pieces of my honor, my soul,
Ice cold blue eyes reliving my perceived faults, never looking inward herself,
Perceptions of being worthless, useless, uncaring, unattractive, sexually inept,
Relapsing into self doubt as before, believing the witch was always right all along,

Whatever was right then was now wrong, the wrongs never discussed until now,
Never saying I was perfect in all that I did, communications ceased over a decade,
A dutiful husband, father, lover, soul mate, that is until the first sickle blow befell me,
The smell of my blood intoxicated her, for nothing I did or said would restore our love,

We both were wrong but neither of us would admit, surely not me, never occurred to her,
Invoking my defenses retreating into my own world taking each slash to heart inside me,
She retaliating with anger, accusations, innuendoes never asking for my response to her,
Instead I took all my faults and hers too, kept them bottled up inside blamed myself for all,

On occasion cold wind blowing through would turn warm, a prelude to affection after all,
But another deadly blow was stuck not from her hand, evil more personified than even her,
Total cessation of my manhood leaving me depressed and incapable of relations with her,
A mute point as she already stated my unattractive looks were a turn off to her anyway,

All this and more was relived the other day, this time as the blood began to flow, I fought
Turning her sickle against the perception it was only I in the wrong, she to had wounds,
Countering blow with blow, war nearing an end, no clear victor, each bloodier than before,
A victory of sorts knowing my mind is clear of thinking I was the only one always at fault,

The sickle of the witch is not as sharp as it was, the wounds have quickly scared over,
Never to be opened again, the scares are such a heavy price paid for all in battle today,
Alliances on both sides will never share the round table of family, brotherhood and love,
Although at peace but never counting out the subsequent return of the sickle of the witch.