.:THE.WITCH.HUNT:.
-=Hunter's Perspective=-

It was on Christmas day, His daughter called it Yule,
He sharply snapped, and out he rapped, "Don't you be such a fool"
"I'm telling you she's evil, She's brought me such a curse"
The townsfolk's accusations, growing intently worse.

He waved waved them off, with a simple scoff, but then out came a yell,
"Remember when your wife had died? Are you sure she simply fell?"
His heart sank then, And that is when, he turned around in fear,
"Allright I'll go, and tell her so, She isn't welcome here"

He set off for his home, confusion filled his mind,
"She's just a child, She seems so mild, but is it that I'm blind?"
His fears grew strong, he might be wrong, for she had cursed him so,
and then his imagination, turned his deadly foe.

The man's face fell so sharply, as he saw what greeted him,
His son's face angered fiercely, her daughter's face so grim.
"She's cast a spell to trick me", the young boy stood and said,
"My Daughter is a Witch!", Her father lost his head.

You see this was long coming, his temper had worn down,
This rumor had spread quickly, across the fearful town.
Her father had been heckled, it ate him like an itch,
Was it true what they had said, could his daughter be a Witch?

He thought about the hardships, his wife's death down the stairs,
After the scolding of their daughter, for simply what she wears.
Could it have been witchcraft? Could it have been her?
It seemed it could be possible, the towns folk were so sure.

His anger grew quite sharply, as straw broke the camel's back,
His voice was raised, his anger phased, He was ready to attack.
She bolted up the stairs, and ran into her room,
She grabbed her book, a few she took, escaping from her doom.

She snuck out through the window, as he burst in through the door,
He yelled out that he'd catch her, anger filled his core.
His soul still feeling loss, his yearning for his wife,
It filled him so completely, enough to take a life.

He ran down to the cellar, and armed his older gun,
He took his young boy's shoulder, "Go get everyone".
They came forth with their torches, their guns, and sharpened blade,
He set them out to where she ran, with the weapons they had made.

His hunting skills had served him, so many years before,
But though he thought he heard her fall, the sounds they came no more.
He ran off seeking signs, of her hidden sanctuary.
But the night went past, the sun came up, and his eyes they grew so weary.

The next day he came home, his anger had gone down.
His son hiding behind a desk, His father asked with frown;
"What is it son, are you upset, that we lost her in the pine?"
"No", he said, "Not that, instead, I fear the fault is mine".

Confusion overcame him, as he looked into his eye.
"I'm sorry dad, But I am sad, for I have told a lie".
"I was jealous of her intellect, she hadn't cast a spell",
And then he knew, what he did do, he'd condemned his girl to hell.

Now this poor man who's anger, had controlled him this sad day,
Who lost his wife, and suffered strife, all each and every day.
His days have grown so sad, his home is without song,
He's also lost his girl, she was his world, now fear hath done him wrong.
Stevoid Wells "PLAYFUL" Playful - 14 years, 5 months, 21 days ago

.:THE.WITCH.HUNT:.
-=His Perspective=-

The day it seems so calmly, A bird's song fills the air,
And the sweetest smells of nature, make off with every care.
The sun is shining brightly, glowing through the sky,
It would have been quite perfect, But to say so would be lie.

I heard sound out of place, a cry among the bird,
yet this one was not happy, some panic could be heard.
I ran out to the treeline, and right into the thick,
What could be running panicked, What's sounds so sadly sick.

I float out above the sound, it's swiftly moving west,
I catch up somewhat slowly, It took my very best.
She trips over some branches, and lands among the leaves,
I float there for a moment, moving with silent ease.

She gasps as unexpected, my hand that reaches down,
She looks up to my smiling face, "poor girl, why the frown?"
She tells me she must hurry, as she is the hunted one,
I smile to her and chuckle, "you've no more need to run".

I Lift her upwards with me, Then downward I do stare,
For sounds approaching anger, are closing in down there.
They do not see us hover, the angered yells run past,
I looks then back to her, her jaw has dropped aghast.

I guide her downward softly, when the hunters have passed through,
I speak to her so softly, "Why were they after you?"
She says because She's different, They think her dark and cruel,
She thanks me for my kindness, on her lonely day of Yule.

I turn to go back home, But realize her bleak,
"Perhaps you'd like some food, before you grow too weak."
She smiles to me so shyly, her face now set aglow,
I lift her once more gently, And slowly off we go.

I make some food and coffee, And ask her where she stays.
Her expression coldly tells me, She's without home these days.
She tells me the whole story, while I serve her up a snack,
She had to leave home quickly, with little time to pack.

Her siblings, friends, and parents, had been those who had chased,
I look at her confused, was it them that she had faced?
"Why would your loved ones hunt you, and wish for you to die?"
She winces ever slightly, and softly starts to cry.

"I was blamed for their problems, From bad crops to the rain,
They thought it was my doing, and blamed me for all their pain".
I feel a mix of anger, in my trembling mind,
How could they be so cruel, to one who seems so kind.

I sigh and lift her chin, and tell her not to fear,
For she is now within my home, and it's so much safer here.
She looks suddenly nervous, and shyly with a smile,
"I couldn't put you out, Though I'd like to stay a while".

She asks how long I've been here, the house was fairly new,
I tell her I just built it, I wanted someplace new.
And now some time has passed, since when I found my dream,
When I look into her eyes, I see a familiar gleam.
Stevoid Wells "PLAYFUL" Playful - 14 years, 5 months, 21 days ago

Un-expectations.

I stand there at her window, She does not see my gaze,
I've had this dream before, awaking in a daze.
Why does this woman plague me, Her beauty fills my mind,
As if she stood before be, and was so very kind.

I try and clear her image, before I go insane,
But that just isn't working, For that is certainly plain.
I try and think of games, and there she is in one,
For a moment even amusing, to see her with that gun.

I tried to think of work, or things that I just don't care.
But I see her sitting on my desk, giving me that seductive stare.
"That's it" I shout aloud, "Who is this goddess of beauty?"
To hold my head in this limbo, it feels like horrid cruelty.

That's when I see her image, and this time it's truly seen,
It's right here where I write this, on my computer screen.
I almost scream with joy, Searching for her name,
Though what I learn is typical, my heart is left to drain.

Stevoid Wells "PLAYFUL" Playful - 16 years, 3 months, 7 days ago

Desperation.

As if the streets were barren, and she was the only one,
She walks so very sadly, her face must weigh a ton.
I wondered why she seemed so, Her beauty was so strong,
What is the sadness in her, what could be so terribly wrong.

She walks on automation, her mind on other things,
hoping that tomorrow, will be better in what it brings.
But her hope grows ever thinner, this chills her to the bone,
for though she is so beutiful, she feels so very alone.

To me this seems so wasteful, how can this be this way?
Why does the prettiest of them all, feel solitude this day?
I walk along beside her, and ask her for the time.
My watch and phone in sight, her reaction tells my crime.

I apologize yet ask her, how she could seem so glum,
Is there something that troubles her, or am I simply being dumb.
She speaks of many things, the dreams that fill her soul,
Though with all the wonder of this girl, She's no food to fill her bowl.

She offers herself to me, her desperation tears me in two,
I tell her that I'm sorry, but I could never do that to you.
She sadly looks back to the ground, and asks if I'm for real.
None should need to sell themselves, simply to have a meal.
Stevoid Wells "PLAYFUL" Playful - 16 years, 4 months ago

.:The.Witchhunt:.

She runs thru the forrest, terror & panic filling her eyes,
It's a wonder how she got there, in her city-like disguise.
Shouts of anger follow, chasing this poor girl down,
What has she done to cross them, to anger this hateful town.

Her face is wet with tears, and her eyes so red with pain,
Do these hunters really loathe her, they glare with such disdain.
She trips over some branches, and lands among the leaves,
But when the hunter catch her, a fate not fit for thieves.

But then some unexpected, a hand that reaches down,
She looks up to this friendly face, "poor girl, why the frown?"
She tells him she must hurry, as she is the hunted one,
He smiles to her and chuckles, "you've no more need to run".

He points down towards the ground, Her eyes follow his stare,
For where she expects to see grass, she see's nothing, none but air.
Her magickal friend has saved her, the angered yells run past,
And she wishes this magical moment, Is one that forever will last.

They land so very softly, when the hunters have passed thru,
He gives her a curious glance, "Why were they after you?"
They hunt because She's different, They think her dark and cruel,
She thanks him for his kindness, on her lonely day of yule.

He turns to leave her standing, then stops and turns to speak,
Perhaps you'd like some food, before you grow too weak.
She smiles to him so shyly, her face now set aglow,
And though none had ever heard of him, where they are, none will know.
Stevoid Wells "PLAYFUL" Playful - 16 years, 4 months, 9 days ago