Cauldron Confessions | Spell Oil

Cauldron Confessions

Honesty | Reveal | Truth | Wisdom

For witches who stir the pot 'til the truth rises.

They called her dark with trembling breath,
while borrowing spells she'd already left.
They dressed her craft in gentler clothes,
then sold the thorns without the rose.

Pumpkin simmered in twilight tea,
brewing every whispered plea.
Green tea watched with patient eyes,
waiting for the truth to rise.

Suede remembered every hand
that traced her work across the land.
Sandalwood knew every name
that played a different-looking game.

Rose still bloomed though cut apart,
its roots remembered where to start.
Bourbon laughed inside the flame,
while tobacco whispered every name.

Ginger struck with sharpened tongue,
where borrowed hymns were falsely sung.

You may rename what witches do,
paint it pale or dress it new.
But watered wine still isn't blood,
& borrowed roots won't bloom in mud.

The cauldron never forgets the flame.
Truth remembers every name.

1 oz