Duvich

Duvich is the witch of poetic justice waiting along history’s winter alley for a jolly prophet of joyous jellied jingles guaranteed to improve reality.
She owns infinite patience and knows that they will eventually pass within reach for her bite.

She’s seen the suffering greed can inflict. Dried blood on a torn child cannot be made to flow with flowered words.
She’s watched the poisons running into streams and wells. Cancer doesn’t become kind with sugared advice.
She’s heard the grunts of honest people carrying their homes in a bag. Despair doesn’t start smiling with promises of bright tomorrows.
She’s heard the worried whispers of roots searching for moisture. The morning cannot be hurried and dusk cannot be stalled regardless of the purity of prayers.
She’s felt the pulse of raw anger behind the bars of injustice. Walls don’t crumble from catchy phrases sounded through a holy-plated trumpet.
She’s witnessed the wounds that the clubs of hypocrisy have caused. Justice can’t climb over a mountain of money with feet tied by corruption.

She waits. One day they’ll pass by and stumble in her trap. Faster than a cobra she’ll strike and bite out the part that pains them most. Their wallet.