Magic

They will spin a tale,

Of lies and lore,

Of paths and doors,

I am merely the one who guides.

You can find everywhere but yet nowhere.

I am found at the bottom of a bottle,

Where all dreams are lost,

Or in the graves where we grieve for the ones we have wandered past the Door. 

The faces I bear,

Is the one you'll in passing,

Not there, 

Nor here, 

But everywhere.

Some call me Mother Magic,

Its ring long gone.

I protect the home,

With sigils and sage,

Runes of blood and death.

They come for me,

On the darkest of days,

In hopes of weaving them,

Curses and Blessings,

Spells of old and new,

Wrapping around my fingers.

I come when they call.

No sooner,

No later,

The job of a witch is never done.