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.

I may mistake the modern day for Salem.
We seem to be mirroring the crazy then verbatim.
Back then, the hysterical banter was of witchcraft and bewitchment.
Now it’s plotless allegations with no plausible way to prove it.

Someone accuses another of a devious deed,
No trial, no proof, I guess that’s no longer a need.
Just escort them, with haste, to the center of the stage,
Light the fire and burn them alive,
Leaving the liar to tell another lie.
The only witchcraft that I see,
Is how people, so thoughtlessly,
Get so passionate about events so petty,
That they become a mob, a stormy sea.
It has nothing to do with their lives,
But they see a cause and sharpen their knives.
A primitive desire to antagonize,
What we believe to be bad, but based on lies.

Truth has become subjective,
Despite its definition, objective.
I can spur a web of lies,
Witchcraft in disguise.
No need for evidence, it doesn’t have to be airtight,
Just enough to incite the urge to fight.
Isn’t that a sorry sight?

“Burn the witches!” They’d scream in Salem.
“Cancel them!” Is the modern verbatim.
They don’t deserve to tell their side,
Just shut them down and ostracize.
Guilty until proven innocent,
Dripping with bitterness and discontentment.
It’s a lose-lose for the accused,
At least they don’t meet their end at the end of a noose.

Perhaps the witches we need to burn,
Are the ones who accuse without evidence to confirm.
Why is the burden of proof on the accused,
And not the ones who defame and misuse,
Justice for a few moments in the news?
Burn naivety, which says that people always tell the truth,
And understand that, sometimes, people are just cruel.
Send the liars out into the center of the stage,
State their case, their proof, and who’s to blame.
Due process, not this foolish nonsense,
Based on feelings used against us.
Before we’re all bewitched by passion,
Which overcomes our reason.

I am staring to feel that Salem sadness,
That I felt last year in the dorm,
I guess you can call it mental illness madness,
But it sure doesn't feel like the norm,
Lucy dacus says that she could **** him if I let her,
And Dan Barrett says no one will ever want me,
I don't understand the allure,
Of becoming who everyone wants me to be.
I got a tattoo at the end of last year,
A serial code for a replicant I love,
Sometimes I feel the same fear,
Illustrated in his face while holding a dove.
Bloodhail playing as I waste time,
In my new dorm,
Doing nothing while healing from surgery was so sublime,
But now I have to face the oncoming storm,
Of work and responsibilities that I hid from for so long,
Faces sweaty arms and legs what a glorious set of stairs this song makes,
I gained too much weight and no longer feel strong,
Guess I should have gone back to work and stopped indulging in things like cakes,
I'm trying not to eat that much anymore,
It isn't worth it when I feel too round and fat,
Just enough to sustain me and restore,
The energy that I spend doing this and that.
I no longer have hyperfixations on things I love,
it makes me feel so horribly empty,
I don't know how to fill my brain up with stories and men from above,
When it no longer brings me joy and won't tempt me,
Is this a part of growing up?,
Losing all the things you loved as a teenager?,
I draw a tarot card and I'll get the cups,
I can only sing in c major.
I guess I'm just starting to grow out of it all,
As scary as that sounds,
Will future me mourn for the current me,
As I mourn for the teenager that had created stories since he was born?

Take it as a compliment
Branded heretical.
Bring on the pyre,
And set it afire;
When they resort to
Crucifixion
You’ll know you have the right
Convictions

death by burning knows no era
and my demons have long
set me on fire.

i feel like a witch burning at the stake —
burning and screaming for too long now,
but give it time and maybe
even my nerves can learn to be numb,
even the lick of flames can grow cold;

and maybe even the ashes can feel like home.

1; fear will not **** you, but it can eat you alive and make your insides rot.

2;you must allow yourself to thaw before you can melt--the cold was meant to allow you to feel your own heartbeat. don't ignore it

3; you are alive, even if just barely. make sure to lift your eyes to the sun to know that it still shines even amongst the dark.

4; breathe in with your nose and out through your mouth. you are a passageway for ancestral air and you should take that responsibility seriously.

5; your blood is not special, nor is it ordinary.

6; it is only by chance that you are here. a line of perfectly timed decisions birthed you--remember why you're here.

7; look at the mountains. they were here before you and will be long after you're gone. one day you will become the air that surrounds it.

8; you can lose your footing, but don't despair. sometimes you fall into a new path and it's like breathing in clarity you've never once known.

9; listen to what you're body tells you, it knows you better than you think.

10; when everything turns to dust remember you have the ability to start over. it cannot harm you to wipe the slate clean

You're innocent like the people of Salem.
But you're Abigail Williams.
We can all be a Reverend Hale sometimes. It's human.
But you are the witch.

© 2018 Omni Winters