They Stuck To The Script
She was accused of being a witch,
no one expressed sympathy.
The accusers were unconvincing witnesses,
they stuck to a script,
and the truth was stained, and ripped,
she was found guilty,
it was to be death by fire,
her thoughts drifted, higher and higher,
with anger her mind was soaked,
hatred build as she choked
not only with the injustice, but the smoke,
she accepted her fate,
but she did not scream
the sky opened and let out a soft drizzle,
and she floated to heaven on a dream.
The young witch rose, yawned, stretched,
and scratched her head with both hands
then she sat at the foot of the bed,
the great gloomy house
overlooking the rapid streams,
nestled in her dreams,
she looked to the door,
and she saw her mother on the floor,
and she could see a man forming beneath her eyes,
he sloped down gradually,
even though she didn’t, he sensed her cries,
she moved away from the man,
he grabbed her and held her down,
in a position of total command,
the death came quickly, and swiftly,
he was hunting, and out to destroy the dark,
she was hunted, like a brave and beautiful lark,
his emotions drained,
and the blood poured down like rain
© 2011 Frank Atanacio
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