The Beloved Souls of Salem - by D. B. Sullivan


Woe for the souls who in Salem did suffer as charges were levied
Onto their innocent lives. Accusations of witchcraft had come from
Neighbors and townsfolk who claimed to be Christian but lacking in virtue.
Shame to the church and the christians within it for harming innocents.

“Witches!” they cried with the pointing of fingers that surely would threaten
Liberty, life and the standing of members devoted to their kin.
Scant was the evidence offered as proof of offenses before God.
Nevertheless were the parties subjected to needless suffering.

Fantasies spreading like rats of the plague wherein feeble minded folk
Bought into lies and horrific dishonesty. Feeding on their own
Citizens, family, kindred and brethren, accusers provided
Names to be targeted, lives to be shattered and souls to be condemned.  

Where was compassion or doubt of the charges? The magistrates seemed to
Judge the defendants as guilty without hesitation before a
Series of hollow, facetious, nay “trials” determined the “truth” of
What had transpired or who was a victim or who was free of guilt.  

Month after month in the year of our Lord Sixteen Ninety Two and Three,
Women and men were subjected to torturous treatment and terror.
Humans betrayed by the church and the state and the village they so loved.  
Sent to the gallows to die for the sins of the Puritan christians.

Even the ones who were spared execution were brutalized, broken.
Many imprisoned were tortured and beaten and died awaiting trial.
Infants of mothers accused were then born in the prison, dark, cold and
Died in conditions where no one would help them, out cast just as refuse.

Such was the state of the village that dozens of innocent people
Suffered and died on the words of accusers, and no one attempted
Merciful pleading for grace or for clemency. Innocent were these
“Witches”, these humans courageously standing as beacons of true strength.

Truly, the only affliction was having no courage, no honor.  
Baseless were claims of consorting with Satan or supernatural
Dealings with devils and demons. The “Witches” were peaceful, upstanding
Citizens, living their truth and in balance with nature and God’s Earth.

None of the liars were punished or banished for needlessly causing
Suffering, pain and unwarranted carnage, here upon the village.
Puritans acting as nothing had happened here, sweeping the affair
Under the rug and ignoring their actions that shattered all those lives.

Long ago, names of the townsfolk forgotten like mud in the river.
Ah! But the “Witches” are vaunted and hailed as beloved souls of yore.  
They did not flinch upon seeing the noose, did not cower before men.  
History shows that not death or destruction can vanish the Witches.

Centuries later the pattern continues and “Men of God” inflict
Pain and oppression on innocent victims while pounding the bible.
Lest they forget it is they who will suffer the wrath that they have earned.
Fires of Hell for the “righteous” and “holy” that prey upon the meek.

See now! Not fire, not gallows, not torture will silence the spirit.
None can extinguish the light of the Witches who tend to Earth’s children.
Caretakers, healers and makers of magic, protectors of wounded
Creatures and people, the coven is sacred, eternal and cherished.

Self-righteous factions have always been keen on the prospect of power.
Try as they might to suppress and subdue in the name of God’s command,
We will still be here.

May peace and truth beguide my wounded soul
That tends and treats the sick with caring hands.  
Compassioned heart for mothers new, and ole,
And infants brought to bear within these lands.  

With bone and herb, and balm and flame, my trade
Is healing, birthing, mending. Berwick North
At Nether Keith I dwelt. No accolade
I sought, but honed my skills and blossomed forth.

Though widowed, I, with help of kith and kin,
Provided care and nourishment to those
Whom surgeons spurned or medics cast chagrin.
This tough but noble calling here, I chose.

These humble skills in time became revered,
Until the cold distrust of church appeared.

Until the cold distrust of church appeared,
Content was I, to toil through my days.
My truthful testimony volunteered,
When called upon to answer for my ways.

At Haddington I stood and spoke my truth,
That ne’er was dev’lish force about my dwell,
Nor thoughts nor will of evil. Nay, forsooth!
Tis virtue that beguides this mortal shell.

“A godly, humble, simple maid am I,
That tends the sick and lame with loving touch.
The wanton work of evil I decry,
And guard myself from Satan’s icy clutch”.

But far from calming fears of devil’s coup,
The Presbet’ry’s suspicion only grew.  

The Presbet’ry’s suspicion only grew
As I continued practicing my craft.
My prayerful, solemn words they’d misconstrue,
And scribe them as an evil, carnal draft.

“All kinds of ills that ever be, be gone!
Both more and less and all the mass - and stone!
And right the blood that reeked o’er truthful rood
Of forth and flesh and of the Earth and bone!”

By name of God and Christ, I conjure thee!
That binds and heals the sinew and the vein
That sin shall have no vex of malady
And cast away the putrid and profane.

As sabbats turn, and seasons changing tide,
Contrary winds would surely soon collide.

Contrary winds would surely soon collide
As James the Sixth’s ambition sought to claim
Dominion over witch or devil’s bride
Who’d threaten order o’er his vast domain.

On Hallows Eve the coven met, they say,
At Auld Kirk Green with witches dancing free.
Consorting with the devil fore the day
And sacrificed a cat to sink at sea.

By this I was arrested for the crime
Of witchcraft and a plot to sink the king
While sailing home with bride on seas sublime
Where ghastly winds and danger forth did bring.

Imprisoned now, in chains, awaiting fate
With torture’s looming fear yond prison gate.

With torture’s looming fear yond prison’s gate,
I steel myself for what may lie ahead.
With nerves alight, in silence here, I wait,
Consumed with ever growing sense of dread.

To dungeon cast where instruments of pain
Would tear my flesh and stab unto the bone.
Deprived of sleep, my thoughts became insane.
My will began to fade, my spirit flown.

Despite the searing pain and agony,
My innocence of evil, I maintained.
The torture did not break my sanity,
Until their searching left me unconstrained.  

When privy mark of devil came to view,
Confessed, I did, declaring charges true.  

Confessed, I did, declaring charges true,
And brought to trial swiftly on the morn.
I never would be spared from death, I knew,
When guilty I did plead, confession sworn.

At Holyrood the trial did commence
With charges read and evidence amassed.  
No counsel did I keep, nor recompense
In predetermined manner, judgement passed.

Convicting witches demonstrates the might
Of King, despite perpetuating lies,
Regardless of the sin of claiming “right”
While wrongfully convicted person dies.

But such is true of Christian powerlust
That soon I’ll be returning to the dust.

That soon I’ll be returning to the dust
Is fear and anguish, tormenting my soul.
To die by execution as I must,
I pray that God will soon receive me whole.

The rope ‘round neck was drawn for bringing death,
Constricted, strangled, held to agonize
And suffocated wind and air and breath.
Asphyxiating into my demise.

With final, fading vision seeing flames,  
My body, limp and hanging from the stake,
As fire consumes my flesh and fin’lly claims,
My life, my name, my truth, let none forsake.

A casualty of Christian wrathful toll,
May peace and truth beguide my wounded soul.