The Righteous Flames

Winds that whisper
Cold and crisply
Rustling the leaves
That chills the bones.
Memories so dark and cold
So very old
Seeps from beneath the dead soil
Desperate to be told.

In a circle round
torches
Shear lighting night
Blaze bright
Grim faces
Unforgiving
and Unyielding
Carved in merciless delight

Here beneath
A blackened and gnarled tree
Within the center
Was a fair young woman
Named with blessings, Avonia
A child of the mother earth
Of our sisterhood
Loving all things Natural
As any Wiccan should.

Crimes against none
In pale light of the moon
For visions she drew
And ancient ruins she threw
Convicted
Judged
Dragged from her simple home
To die the most unnatural
In horrible pain and all alone.

In this quiet place
This killing ground
Where the remains of her ancestors
Could also be found
The silent dead
Her kith and her kin.
Damned guilty of what
Others claimed as witchery and sin.

Teetering unsteady
Upon an old rickety wooden chair
The cool night winds whispering
Through her long crimson hair.

Rope pulled taut
About her fragile neck
Cruelly tightened
Her frail hands bound
Crossed behind her.
Delicate skin once
Creamy and flush
Now  pale and haunted white.

Witch!! They yelled
As they spat at her
You Whore of desire
She beds the beast with two backs
Whore she be!
Witch she is!
Let us hang her now from this tree!

I’m innocent she pleaded
With her tears and ire
Less than nothing the devil was in
Her young hearts beating fire.
Justice this is not
Listen was all she ever did
To her Sweet Goddess’ call.

All of them every last one there
Harbored lust and desires for
This poor girl with the crimson hair.
That being her only crime
Her only misdeed was
Reviling them all
Not indulging their lustful needs

That was the way it was back in those days
Church not with love held an unbridled sway.
Begging  she pleaded calling out each mans name
Nothing wicked she had done
To blame she was not!

None gathered there
Would hear or listen
None there gathered
Dared to even come near
Avoiding her emerald eyes
Let these flames dry her tears

Misery and woe was this
Poor girls tale.
Accused and defamed by this
Mob and cast down below

Tears shed
Weeping enough
That new rivers would flow
Yet the council would hear none of it,
In a league with Satan
They kept telling her so
Beguiled we will not by your witch’s call!

Burn her
Hang her
Watch her die!
God will suffer no more
Of your  foul wretched lies!

The stool went the Preacher
With dark intent
He strode for poor Avonia
This poor poor girl
The darkest of ills
This would be.

Slapping her
Heavy handedly marring
The softest flesh of her face
Over and over he would strike
Showing no mercy or grace
No kindness or reprieve
This ugly mark of his hand
Was all he would leave

Peering upwards with
His Bible held high
He parted his  mouth
Shouting ever so loudly
A heated Christian cry
The will of our Lord, God
Unclean thing DIE you must!!!

As he kicked at her swiftly
Full of hate and malice
Down to Hell
He convinced he sent her
Damned to dance is Satan’s dark palace.

Kicking and struggling
She twisted and swung
Her frail little neck
Stretched by that rope
The deed was done
There she hung.

If this weren’t enough for
These blood thirsty men
More cruelties they wished to do
Determined they was to kill
This poor girl true.

The torch they set light
The hem of her plain cotton dress.
Brightly burning the fire took searing
Poor Avonia's flesh

Louder and higher the flames did crackle
And roared !
Until these men knew
Part of this earth that
Wicca Avonia
Wasn’t anymore

We have struck
See it here be done
God be our savior
Our Sheppard
Satan’s work s
Every one of them
Be undone.

This was the night
That winds whispered
Cries within the trees
This nightmarish truth
Toforever  be told when down
Falls the leaves
From ashes to dust
Avonia'sgrave is long since grown cold
The fright never leaves us no matter how old we grow