Daughters of the Unburned

 We are the daughters of the witches you couldn’t burn,
From fires where shadows twisted, and darkness learned
That truth is a flame you cannot snuff,
A light in the wild, fierce, and tough.

From ancient mouths that whispered spells,
From tongues cut silent in cold, dark cells,
We rose with the smoke through the midnight air,
Unseen, unheard, but always there.

We are the daughters who carry their names,
Who dance on the ashes of long-quenched flames.
Our bodies, a testament to battles long fought,
Our lives, the magic that history sought.

We know what it means to be feared for our grace,
To walk through the world, always out of place,
To bend the lines of what’s wrong or right,
To claim the dark and call it light.

They hunted us then, with fire and steel,
Afraid of the strength they could not conceal.
But we’ve learned from their fear, turned it to power—
Bloomed in the night like a moon-kissed flower.

We are the daughters who bend, but don’t break,
The voices of those who could not awake.
We shift and we shimmer in the space between,
Living proof of what might have been.

Your laws cannot hold us; your words cannot bind—
For we are the heirs of a different kind.
We stand where the past meets the yet-to-be,
With a strength that is ancient, wild, and free.

So call us your witches, your sinners, your wrong—
We’ll write new verses to the old, dead song.
For we are the daughters of all you fear—
The ones who remain, who are still here.

 

 

*Drawing inspiration to themes shared by Evalynn during one of our many rich conversations.