Witchy themed Framed Art

"Serpentina"

Slither.

The serpent rises in the forest before her, serving as a reminder that her and Earth command will of minds.

Silver Dutchess of Vore.

Casting of taste.

She lingers the exteriors of the ruins with a taste for creature. Collecting them for spell and brew alike, the silver dutchess of Vore devours all that crawl, silver and fall.

Waxing moons.

Scalding delights.

Each waxing moon in the eye of Samhain, the witch of East Kerry concocts candles for ritual. For the coven in bloom, she bounds the columns with rites and intent.

Luna 229.

The new witch isn't new.

Two hundred twenty nine moons, demand sacraficial scale under firey night sky. From east to west, a witch isn't new but an old soul of the blessing for love and light. The killing of the serpent cleanses the plane.

Biomancer.

Two wrongs, no light

For the melding of flesh in the midnight air, is an act to bind new life into former. The unclad witch sews divisions and brings order to refreshing pulse. The animals abound florish as they did before.

Fire Dancer

Light casts the shortest shadows.

It's not the light that bends time, but time that bends light. Through the forested thickness, she dances a hundred millennia in dreams. The power of the light commands her. The power of forest protects her.

Tears of the Seer

Through dark she sees.

She sulks by the fire of the central light, seeing five days sight, pain and glory. More pain than glory, she flows rivers of tears for unfortunate souls.

Rites of Sisters.

Laughter and light.

They shared the same womb and in life, they share the same laughs. Before all the fire, before the dance of the dire, the sisters rejoice and remember the actions to cast into fire.

The harvestess.

Reap what she sows.

For nine moons they grow, each stalk of Earth flowing, crying for plucking and release. It is the witch of the harvest that shall grant peace.

Lunar Fealty.

High above the city.

In the glow of the moon she finds guidance of soul. It bounds her thoughts to focus, of fealty to unclad desire upon the tall Earth.

Punishment.

Cast by the coven.

The elder sisters of the New Fawn Coven, release the young witch to confines below. In the dungeon of steel, she rots in wait for judgement, for crimes against her fellow.

Lunista.

Silhouettes.

In the 2nd hour glow of the moon lit birth, she wait patiently for reprise. The silhouette of the witch is upon the Earth.

Bend the Light.

Flowing .

The elder sisters of the New Fawn Coven, release the young witch to confines below. In the dungeon of steel, she rots in wait for judgement, for crimes against her fellow.

Listo.

Ready for it.

She waits patiently. The blue hue binds her to the circle, as the time slips through the winds of minds. She is ready for salvation within.

Sarah of Salem.

Spell for her love.

She cast the herb into the ether, to the fire for desire. She wants nothing more than love from her, a gristle toe and blackend toad.

Sealed with a Kiss.

Bound.

They agree upon one, nothing to let slip. One pull to another, in sorrow and joy. One lip, touch thy Two lips seal thee.

Waltz de la Flora.

Rythmic rune.

In the dance they felt no one else, no judgement upon them but they themselves. Love and light, sway and groove, a casted spell, in the waning moon.

Flock of Skin.

Coven of wool.

Center at thee, the black sheep, low and wise, binds the coven at all of times. They pray to wool, cartilage, sin and bone, for this night of seven, no one shall know.

Unjust.

Cast to the fire for sin of none.

Women of Salem, cast to the light, not of soft yet harshest fight. For now fault done to thee and sire, the women of Salem lost to the nights of dire. Justice knows, no truest form, of karmic rights upon his door.

Smite thee Sight.

Take his visions.

For dusk in Salem, falls a new calling inside, to forever hide, his sight with fire. A dance and dash, a pinch and stash, she cast upon him, no more skin or delight.

Hecate of Thessaly.

All of Greece, do thy will.

She appeared as warmth in the dark, as a presence that saw them not as shields in a line, but as bodies worthy of pleasure, breath, and touch. Faceless, smile, to true desire. Long live Hecate.

Skull and Horn.

Growth and wind.

The winds pass through the elk's eye of bone, to sin is dirt, brim and stone. She encourage him, to carry through the trials of life, limb and two.

Unsteady Witch.

New to flight.

She lept into the night of winds, unsure but kind of stalk and skin. Her breasts abound, too new to sow, upon the rite of witches show.

Madam Laura.

Provider of potion.

Intoxicating sight, just and fair, the Madam give drink, for lovers snare. Bait the sire, bull and crown for wicked lights are true and found.

Curious.

Wondering mind.

Greta wondered often, what wicca shows, where dreams and reality tend to go. Her freshened mind, know not the true but only thoughts of men in suits. Learn and grow, Greta the youth, for time will tell your yearning tooth.

Trifecta.

Three in flight.

Triple her, skin and cloth, to moonlight akin flame and moth. The trio in in flight, a dusks new bloom, they'll later enter, thy waking room.

Paganistic Stones.

Stonehenge.

Above the shapes of tonne and sign, the find their purpose, stars align. Giveth, thought to men, child and boar, the witches of Stonehenge, fly no more.