Poetry By Willow Dancer

"In Memory Of The Burning Times"

What have I done, how can this be
my heart is pure, why won't they see?
I do no harm, I've learned from birth
to live as one with Mother Earth.

A spirit healer, my ways arcane
In times of need, in grief or pain
on sacred ground we kneel and pray
for broken men that lost their way.

My peaceful world of love and light
shrouded hate as dark as night
wielding power in their Gods name
to decide my fate, torment and maim.

My hands you've bound as if you fear
the madness that has brought you here
to steal our temples and brand our wise
my guilt is none, condemned with lies.

The moonlit hills alive with those
in crimson stained self righteous clothes
panicked wails in fevered pitch
lay torch to straw, they've named me witch!

Willow Dancer
12 - 02 - 02

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