A Witch Hunt

One hangs under the bridge,

Wind playing with hair.

Swinging, Rotting,

Face distorted, twisted in Horror

In Agony.

Three blow through the square,

Fallen leaves in the Wind.

Wind carries them, cradles them,

Gives them flight upon Raven wings

Rising through Smoke.

Screams still echo in the street

From when they turned to Ash.

Another hides,

The forest her new home.

Trees watch over her sleep,

Helpless but vigilant.

Like a hunted fox she observes,

She waits, and then she runs.

The baying of hounds closing in

A death knell to her ears.

She falls.

A fresh sacrifice

To the God of infinite mercy,

She stands upon the ledge.

The Water beneath beckons.

The Priest beside mutters,

Mumbles through the haunted passage

Of a curst book.

A cruel invocation of the lord's salvation.

The Wind plays with her matted hair

As it swings, preparing to rot.

The cruel crowd gathered

Murmur upon the bridge.

Impatient. Hungry.

She is tired of whimpering.

She whispers to the Wind,

A curse in a forgotten tongue.

And then;

The Plunge.