A Poem Of Witchcraft & Woe For October! |
S A L E M Winds that whisper crisp and cold, rustle the leaves and chill the bones. Memories so dark and so very old seep from dead soil desperate to be told. Of a circle at night, of torches blazing bright. Of grim faces unyielding, unforgiving, etched with merciless delight. In the center here beneath a gnarled and blackened tree was a fair young woman named with blessings, Emily. A child of the Earth of the Sisterhood Loving all things Natural as a Wiccan should. For crimes against none in the light of the moon for the images she drew and the ancient runes She was convicted, judged dragged from her home to die most unnaturally in pain and alone. In this sombre place on this killing ground where remains of others could also be found. The silent dead her kith and kin guilty of what others called witchery and sin. Teetering, off balance upon an old wooden chair The night winds tumbling, whispering through her wild crimson hair. A rope was drawn about her neck cruelly tight. Hands bound crossed behind her her skin once creamy and flush now haunted white. WITCH! they spat at her. Whore of desire! She makes the beast with two backs in Hell's seething pyre! WITCH she is! WHORE she be! Hang her now from the tree! INNOCENT! she cried, with tears and ire the Devil was less than nothing in her young heart's beating fire. This is no justice no justice at all, all she ever did was listen to the Divine Goddess' call. But all of them every last one of them there harbored desires, lust for this girl with red hair. That was her crime her only misdeed; reviling them all not indulging their needs. It was the way Salem was back in those days when the Church not with Love held unbridled sway. Pleading, she begged calling each man out by name she had done nothing wicked she was not to blame! None there gathered would listen or hear. None there gathered dared even get near. They avoided her green eyes let the flames dry her tears. Her tale was a misery of sorrow and woe. Defamed and accused by this mob and cast low. Weeping enough to make new rivers flow, the council would have none of it, they kept telling her so. Thou art in league with Satan! In league and in thrall we will not be beguiled by your foul witch's call! Hang her, burn her, see her die! God will suffer not one more fouling wretched lie! To the stool went the Reverend, with black intent he strode. and for Emily this poor, poor girl the gravest of ills this would bode. Heavy-handed he slapped her marring that soft face. Again and again he would strike sparing her no grace. Not one bit of kindness Not one thought for reprieve the ugly mark of his hand was all he would leave. Looking up raising his Bible high he opened his mouth shouting loudly a fevered, Christian cry. By the will of our Lord, GOD unclean thing you must DIE! And he kicked at her swift full of venom and with malice. Down to Hell he thought he sent her to dance damned in Satan's palace. She kicked she struggled she twisted and she swung. Her neck was stretched, by that rope was she hung. As if that weren't enough for them more cruelties would they do Determined was that ugly mob to kill the poor girl true. By the torch they set to light the hem of her plain dress. The fire took burning brightly searing Emily's innocent flesh. Higher! Louder! Flames crackled, and roared! Until they knew part of this Earth the Wicca Emily wasn't anymore. There have we struck! See it here be done! God be our savior, our shepherd, Satan's works every one of them undone! That was the night the winds whisper of in the trees. The nightmare truth told when down fall the leaves. From ashes to dust Emily's grave is long cold But the fright never leaves us no matter how old. The night we dress for, the night we act out and dance. For a trick For a treat For the sweetness of chance. A chance for a kindness A chance to believe we will never again bring horror beneath the moon on Hallow's Eve. For All That Suffered Man's Inhumanity To Man |