A poem about perceptions; I'll let you decipher. |
On one fresh spring morning In April of 1692, Came an ominous warning, Which rang quite untrue. “There be witchcraft here,” Sang the terrible man, “And the Devil be near, Turning all whom he can!” The men shouted my name; Asked where I reside, And to my room they came- I had wished I could hide. My wrists were then bound To be taken away. A ‘witch’ they had found; ‘From God did I stray.’ “Where see him, you first?” “I know not the devil!” “These people, you’ve cursed! With evil you revel!” I had heard of these stories And knew that others were dead; Stripped of their glories, Of their properties shed. I was sent to a courtroom Where I waited a while, Visualizing my tomb Resulting from trial. Then the accusers walked in, Said they were feeling a chill- Subduing a grin, Afflicted moved against will. Allegedly, I did this, Made girls wither in pain; Apparently it gave me bliss, To stray from mundane. “But all this, untrue!” I shouted to court, “None of this, I do,” To the girls, I retort. But because I denied Something very untrue, And the girls, they all lied- Condemned for what I didn’t do. I was led to the hill, The one they called Gallow- So that they could kill On grounds were not hallow. A noose thrown over my head And I waited to fall. I soon would be dead- My shunned practice, to end all. Simple dances to me Were taboo to a friend. I thought I was free, But instead, I met my end. I felt the trap door release, And a gripping on my lung- My life would soon cease, For from the rafter, I hung. And slowly the world Closed all around, As my fingers all curled. I am now Heaven-bound. |