The Witch’s tale
Danger: men at work~a tale old as time
There’s a woman selling dreams on the corner of the marketplace a beribboned tray of wonders slung blithely round her neck. She sports in spring-green velveteen, sleek floor length tulle confectionery hennaed tresses turban wrapped Keen black eyed kohl rimmed mirrors scour the crowd of eager punters summoning her gifts she gathers lost souls into her net ‘What for today my sweetlings is’t love philtres you desire something for the weekend when your husband’s strength is spent a mother’s helping handful when her patience it expires a cloak invisible to wear when the landlord calls for rent a quickening decocktion, for when the childers overdue what dreams do you require today that I can help come true?”
Granite walls run mossy green with misery old stone swallows the weight of words uttered in terror to no avail rusted manacles a clink of nightmare awaking stolen voices pointlessly pleading down echoing hallways roaches scuttle down into the dark vortex rimmed in blood and gore stinking foul betrayal lurks in every corner uncovered through torture and pain, lies and neglect, guilt before evidence, men’s will be done A figure curled broken against the back wall piteously moans a smell of panic permeates the ragged blanket she wears to cover her vulnerability a chink of light wavering under the door, a grunt of the key in the lock, scrape of the bar, accusation of a hinge a change of pressure as the door swings suddenly wide open a pale halo of light illuminates the sad grey shadows finally coming to rest on the bent buffeted head of the prisoner hollowed eyes slowly rising to meet her latest date with misery
stripped naked
thumbs bound
behind her back
publicly scourged
the scald lies exposed
on the village green
chiding stone
now sat spitting bile
dressed in widows weeds
tied to the ducking stool
breathless, drowning
faggots piled high
point hot to the sky
her funeral pyre
a mockery of justice
she dares their applause
they promise her Hell
and Damnation
She spits in their faces
eyes mocking craven wives
as they bear false witness
a tale as old as time
“It’s my face they see
as they fuck you
wriggling maggots
squirming beneath them
in my pliant young body
they plant their seed
you birth the demons
coming to haunt them
my ripening vengeance
lies smiling complicit
beneath your children’s
lily white skin
behind their innocent
blue eyes…”
@The In Between and @Norm DePlume thanks for sharing guys, appreciate you ✨✨😘
They weren't witches, they were women. Men scourged them to hide their own sinful natures. A tale as old as time, indeed. Wickedness inherent. Thank you for sharing this. Love, Virg