Persecution
“Witch!!” sneers the maddened, slavering crowd.
Jeers from the crazed crowd will not enslave her, not now.
She walks strong like steel,
the burlap and cotton scratching,
skirting the edge of the enormous scaffold.
Doom looms just above her head, angry and fierce.
Her haunted eyes accuse her accusers in the frenzied crowd.
These spectators have no conscience now,
they want a circus, would have preferred a stoning.
Now they become silent, smirks of self-righteousness
Veil their faces like death masks.
Her knees bend at just the right angle as she climbs the stairs.
She must throw herself into the open mouthed abyss of afterlife,
Whatever happens after her neck is broken…
Sharp Fingers point now, accusations that even the bravest
Violators are scared to say, fearing retaliation; she is a witch, isn’t she?
Her own lips move in close lipped expiation, half breathed prayers.
Nothing stands between her and the noose as it tightens
Around her fragile neck, starved sad long neck…
The maddening crowd shows no remorse as her body
Posthumously jerks above the gallows.
They have already forgotten her name and wait
Impatiently for the next execution.
