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Heather Ann Oct 2018
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
Omni Winters Oct 2018
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
October 26, 2018
Temporal Fugue Nov 2017
Hand me the hammer m'love
nails for, the collective coffin
seeing evil ever more, instead of seeing it, less often

Let's strike up the band, calling all hands
and wash out the hate, from our souls
pretending we care, although nobody there
that's just how the devil, now rolls

Hand me the screwdriver, honey
following the greed, and more money
******* our neighbors, how funny

blood prolific, and runny

Let's call out the guard, not really hard
realizing past, and future mistakes
never to learn, and always to yearn
regret for those burned
at the stake
Why does history always repeat, just in a slightly different way, and why, do we never learn from it? :/
anon Sep 2017
we live in the salem of judgment
acting as though
these are the societal judgment trials
acting as though
we are perfect
and everyone else
is either subpar
or evil
by comparison

we look at people we don't like
or don't know
and act as though being propelled by
a mob

throw our judgment
like rocks

douse it in oil
and light it up
to surround those
we deem
inherently suspect

string it
at first as innocently
as christmas popcorn strings
growing into a licorice rope
and soon
it is a rope we unconsciously
throw around necks
at people
with lives
and loves
and families
we always forget they might have

because we're so
****
obsessed with ourselves
it's like
no one else
matters
or even
exists

only us
and our lives
and loves
and families

i'm not blameless
but whoever says they are
is not

just like the witch trials
though
our salem
tries to end
once it gets personal

it never seems to matter
who we hurt and judge
until
it's us

because that's all we care about
isn't it?
only
us

...

forever
A velvet smooth muskrat
her peltry in woods abandon safe harbor
as though a fir tree can alight her gain

yet beneath her surface
that cast doubt in a loom
where her shape desire it
but a charlatan begun ahem

if Tom sheath his wrench
and tries to loosen her again
in Bensalem tonight.
Gretchen Nov 2016
There once was a coven
Filled not with witches by the dozen
Only but a few friends
That hadn't any ill intends

The witches wished only to help people
Still, they didn't visit the steeple
The townspeople became suspicious
...which soon led to vicious

Fire blazing and burning
The church's violence concerning
Their hysteria and accusation
Led to the coven's ultimate destruction
By: Gretchen
Andrew Maitland Aug 2016
On Proctor’s ledge I made my bed
Following the ****** scores
Through grey fog, thick as cold death.
Screaming gallows want my head...
To dance across their blood stained floors.
This opaque sky is my one true friend  
Oh the exquisite view it does afford!
Peering down those rotten trap doors.

Puritan villagers spew hate
Lighting my ***** feet
As this frayed rope keeps me safe.
Smooth grey rocks hidden away...
By broken sticks and amber leaves.
I left them on the ground where they lay
Just to preserve this caliginous scene!
Eighteen others shall soon agree.
Tryst Apr 2016
In pressing times truth oft' lies so oppressed
And falsehoods rouse to speak in joyed debate
That burdens brought to bear upon the breast
Might anchor nought but will of one testate

What courage leant upon a graven guest
Not thrift of fear in bearing of his fate
But silent as all untruths so expressed,
Except to cry with cursed tongue, "More weight!"
Giles Corey was executed via "Pressing" during the Salem Witch Trials on September 19th 1692 at the age of 81.  He refused to enter any plea against the charges of witchcraft, as was his legal right.
Entering a plea meant he could be tried in court and if found guilty, all of his estate would be forfeit to the crown.
By not entering a plea his assets could be passed to his children.  To prevent people from using this legal loophole, the law allowed a person to be "Pressed".  This involved the person being stripped, having a large plank placed upon their chest, and then large rocks piled on top of the plank to slowly crush the chest, until a plea is entered or until death occurs.  Giles endured his torture for two days before succumbing, only ever crying out "More weight!" when asked for his plea.
Bre Dec 2015
I stand before you
accused by some fool.
You call me a witch,
but I say you are foolish to agree.
I but a simple girl
I mean harm to no one.
You demand I confess to my sins of witchcraft
I'm firm when I look you the eye and tell you,
“ I cannot”.
I go three days and three nights
with only water and some stale bread
in the damp dark of the jail.
I almost fear my hunger has made me mad
when I see your face appear at my cell.
Though am weak,
I rise to greet your scornful face.
Again, you demand I confess.
You wish to make an example of me.
Yet again I look  you in the eye and reply;
“ I  cannot."
You storm out in anger raving about how I shall hang,
but I will not be tried for something I did not do.
I will not ruin my name for the games of the fool.
I stand at the gallows and you demand one last time my confession
A single tear rolls down my face as I look to the crowd gathered to see my end.
Standing tall, I whisper
“I cannot.”
s.s.
Arkenya Jones Aug 2015
I’m a witch when in the fire:
the taste, just like acid
dropping down the hole.

I’m a witch when I get out of here,
so devastated was the
dilapidated Ferris wheel.

I’m a witch when my mother comes
and succors me along,
but she don’t like
what I’ve been doing
at the witching hour--
only time I got to raise my flag.

I’m a witch when they come in
to make a martyr out of
flesh and bone. I live for the day
the people gather round’
and weep for the child of
ignorance and recreational hate.

I’m a witch when the riot
raise their fire. I’m unholy
so the temple must go down.

One, three, five, six,
give me, give me all of it.
I can take a lot, you see,
my will is unrelenting.
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