Lament of a Witch

As with everyone before me, a speech is made.
Thus it’s given me time to reflect on the situation at hand.
This overused stake is drenched in dry red.
And the people before me have nothing better to do with their lives it seems.
I feel no sorrow for myself, as this has happened so often it was only a matter of time.
My sadness rests with the public, whose brains have surely turned to mush.
I look among them, and realize how much I know.
The farmer, his crops are rotting.
The baker, her food never seems to preserve well.
Mrs. Bartlett, her son is dying of tuberculosis.
Mr. Matthews, his marriage will fall out very soon.
And yet, here they all stand.
Gathered to watch a fellow human burn to ashes.
The children have come out of school to observe.
Parents take along their babies, as though it is a show.
“Back to the devil with you!”
They cry, as the executioner lights the holy flames.
But how could I?
When in fact Lucifer himself is among this crowd
Everywhere you look, you can see his face.
In some spots, he’s laughing, others yelling.
He’s short over there, but in another place he’s tall.
He’s a man.
He’s a woman.
He’s a child.
And truthfully, I am just another Lucifer.
They just can’t realize we all share the same face.
Category:Poetry
Category:History