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Pendle

Contributed by poeticjestix on Wednesday, 17th August 2011 @ 03:08:52 PM in AEST
Topic: DarkPoetry

Jennet device identifies
A child, she is, it could be lies
The court admires this bastard child
whose family were poor and wild
No longer awkward, now a power
Above her family she towers
Despite her waif like infant form
Her words do cause an awful storm
Her mother screams as she arrives
Begging for her to end her lies
But Jennet quietly waits until
Her mother is removed at will
Then Jennet quietly names her kin
As devils, witches, bent on sin
Ten people hanged upon her word
She sees her mother’s final glare
One up one down, loose fitting rope
slowly, gently dropped to choke.
It takes a while to die that way
Passers-by do cause affray
by clambering and pulling legs
merciful to the hanging dregs.
Poor Jennet, now an orphan child
Massachusetts did her proud
Now goths and such do get their fill
Of witches tales on pendle hill.
Feeling such an awful fright
Walking, talking, through the night.
But way back then, the greatest fear
Was neither dark nor light, nor clear
The fear that now seems so absurd
The greatest fear?
A small child’s word.

Copyright Â© poeticjestix ... [ 2011-08-17 15:08:52]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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