Jane Doe

The Salem Witch Trials - Poem by Jane Doe

It was 1692, in Salem Village that the abhorrence began
A time of pandemonium and darkness that swept across the land
A village of pure jealousy, economic loss, and strife
Where 19 innocent men and women had an end put to their life

A cold winter, young girls experienced turbulent fits
Frightened and confused, they claimed they were bewitched
The girls blamed their affliction on the social outcasts of their town
And suspicion of the Satan’s witchcraft circulated all around

Mary Easty was 58 years old, a wife and mother of seven
When she had her kind soul taken away, too early to go to heaven
Respected and religious, everyone was shocked when she was accused
But perhaps it was envy, for they coveted the costly land she’d lose

So on April 22nd, Mary was then taken to examination in court
She remained calm and respectful, denying witchcraft of any sort
“I will say it, if it was my last, I am clear of this sin”
Her eyes quivering with tears, revealing her fear from within

She was sentenced to prison, the court disregarding her pleas
But after a few grisly days, she was once again released
But the young girls were dedicated to argue, debate, and fight
Claiming that Mary’s apparition strangles them in the night

It was at midnight, after two days of certainty that she was free
The marshall came into Mary’s house and seized her away from her family
Thrown back into prison, and laden with chains
She was condemned to death, her short-lived freedom in vain

She was carted to Gallows Hill, a barren and arid slope
Like the corpse of death itself, deprived of all hope
A shadowy silhouette, anticipating its prey
Prepared to pounce, and steal guiltless lives away

Preceding her execution, she spoke her final goodbyes
To her husband, her children, while everyone present cried
For her parting words were as affectionate and religious as could be
Because, never again, will words be spoken by Mary Easty

The noose clutched her neck, she held her head low
Tears glided down her cheeks, one last time before she’d go
She prayed to her God, softly and subdued she said
“If it be possible, no more innocent blood be shed”

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Poem Submitted: Saturday, November 14, 2009

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