The Witches of 4 a.m.

A kick once more.

and the broom moves higher,

the enemy right behind me,

I surge further, faster

and she follows,

wanting to catch up.

I mustn't let her,

she wants what I have,

and if she touches me,

I'll dissolve in mid air,

and she'll be me.

It's a fight till the end,

till one of us gives in,

and I know it well enough now.

Two brown specks in the sky,

hair flying as clouds pass us by,

The only way to get away is to tire her,

so I keep pulling speed,

my legs hurt as I move upwards

where the clouds weaken

and the air dies a little

with every vertical feet,

giving way to only blue,

where there are no birds,

only the sound of the wind,

as I cut through it.

She is on my track,

trying desperately to catch up.

Days and nights pass,

continents disappear under us

My body cries for rest,

but it is unwilling to give up its identity,

the one she so badly desires,

her heart cold and grey

over centuries of power,

mine red and warm,

overflowing with blood.

Finally, over London, I lose her.

She gives up and descends.

I see her going down,

a bubble bursting up by its own weight.

I know, I'm miles ahead of her,

and I need to get home

to cast the protecting spell

before she comes hunting again.

I don't stop to rest,

I'm effortless now,

soaring away over the end of the world,

And I won't stop till I reach home again.