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The Salem Witch Trials
They curse you for your intelligence,
Like the stars that envy the moon's glow.
Jealousy courses with anger through their veins.
They want control over you because their eyes,
Like scornful brushes, see you as mere muddy residue on rain-soaked shoes,
Left behind by downpours, crying touch.
So they spin a false tale,
Painting a twisted portrait, claiming your literary prowess is like a knife in Jack the Ripper's deadly hands.
Then they burn you at the stake.
Cook you, a culinary beauty like the dishes they have you prepare at each day's end,
Their daily feast of dominance.
No longer smelling like the lavender they'd promised you,
Just burnt flesh, burning like the scorching gaze of the sun,
Burning for the insatiable talent of reading a book,
Burning for nothing.
When the sand in the hourglass runs out and they stop burning you,
Seek your revenge.
Let them wish you were actually a witch.
© Myth
Like the stars that envy the moon's glow.
Jealousy courses with anger through their veins.
They want control over you because their eyes,
Like scornful brushes, see you as mere muddy residue on rain-soaked shoes,
Left behind by downpours, crying touch.
So they spin a false tale,
Painting a twisted portrait, claiming your literary prowess is like a knife in Jack the Ripper's deadly hands.
Then they burn you at the stake.
Cook you, a culinary beauty like the dishes they have you prepare at each day's end,
Their daily feast of dominance.
No longer smelling like the lavender they'd promised you,
Just burnt flesh, burning like the scorching gaze of the sun,
Burning for the insatiable talent of reading a book,
Burning for nothing.
When the sand in the hourglass runs out and they stop burning you,
Seek your revenge.
Let them wish you were actually a witch.
© Myth
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