Photo by Ashkan Sa on Pexels.com Once, in a kingdom fair,
Three witches sat within their lair
And made a plan to curse the king.
The first one was all green and grey
With many faces on display
And numbers ever, ever counting.
The second was all kinds of spattered,
With paint and light as it scattered;
She brought only the muses of everything.
The third one had great wings of gold
That many sought out to behold,
Yet even she was ever draining.
The king had a lovely wife,
And four lovely children for a lovely life,
Yet he searched for something missing.
And as he searched, the witches came
And started everyone shifting blame.
So starts the plot to curse the king.
Then the king, in desperation,
Sought the witches’ explanation.
They told him he had done just everything.
Each witch touched his hand and heart,
And this was where the problem starts
For he saw his family as ugly and boring.
They started with the eldest boy
And got him all obsessed with toys,
Until he only ever sat playing.
Then, the king, who had been kind,
Had the witches mess with his mind,
And somehow blinded him from seeing.
But one day, the boy was found;
The king yelled him into the ground
Until the oldest ran angrily screaming.
Then the king, now very wild,
Cried to his wife about their child
Whose rebellion had him fleeing.
Then the queen, the king’s wife,
Shrugged and said, “Well, that’s life.
We’ll carry on like it was nothing.”
And while this scene was going on,
The other three had to be strong
In hopes they’d calm the king.
And so they put up their brave smiles,
But the witches had stronger wiles
That children shouldn’t be holding.
The king went to his bedroom mirror
To see if he had been in error
Yet the witches had been scheming.
The second witch made him his reflection,
And so, he thought he was perfection
His children needed demeaning.
He locked the second in a tower,
As he struggled for inner power,
She now had walls of suffering.
She saw his actions toward the others,
The younger two: sister and brother,
Her heart ached for her siblings.
The princess ached to give them help,
But her tower kept her from doing well.
Her heart was just left gaping.
But one day, she saw her open door,
And ran across her tower floor
Until her eyes were blinking.
She felt the air upon her face,
And through the air, there was a trace
Of the freedom she was needing.
She saw the witches in their lair;
She saw the neighboring kingdom fair,
And gathering courage, ran, escaping.
And on the road, she met a stranger,
But did not know that he caused danger
Until she saw her heart was bleeding.
But as it was all she had known,
She knew it was best not to groan,
Her mum said those types were nothing.
So she was beaten down again,
Until along came unknown friends
Who saw her need for saving.
They pulled her away and showed her life
That wasn’t stuck in someone’s strife,
And they taught her ever loving.
They showed her all the neighboring town
And gave her freedom from being down.
She knew it was a blessing.
Soon she recalled the witches’ lair
And thought it was not very fair
Her brethren still were suffering.
Through secret ways, she sent them letters
And told them how life should be better
Than what they were experiencing.
The king found out and sent the soldiers
To drag her back by waist and shoulders
Despite her screams and crying.
The queen just smiled with a “Come along.
This is where you always belong.”
It seemed the curse was spreading.
The witches’ curse had taken root
It swept the kingdom up like soot
Now everyone was suffering.
The witches stopped their games long ago,
But curses, like diseases, grow
When rulers seek the wrong thing.
The tower remains locked to this day,
And it’s said if you pass that way,
You can hear the children weeping.
While the queen stays quiet and the king goes mad,
Others can’t help but feel sad
About the toll it’s taking.
But the children smile when dignitaries
Ask them to sing like peach canaries
For they still love their king.
They think of their brother who somewhere roams
And don’t blame him for leaving home
They hear rumors of his doings.
And they pray that they will get their day
When they, too, can finally go away
And leave the curse that witches bring.
So all who listen to my tale,
Or, crouching, hear the children’s cursed wail
From some new horrid thing,
Consider all that’s before your eyes
And be quicker to prioritize
Those under your guiding,
For the witches caught the king on greed,
The desire to move and to be the creed
That joyous cries are shouting.
But the money was just a paper fold,
The wings were ash, not made of gold
It was only himself that he was fooling.
Do not let your family die;
And if it lives, don’t say goodbye
And chide them for believing
That hope lies around the bend.
Just take the time to stop and listen,
Be the reason they are loving.
Prescriptive Poetry 