Poem: Past Centuries

St Pierre Cathedral, https://unsplash.com/@laurentnaville

I was

Half Welsh

Half French

centuries ago sorrow

accused of being a witch

because of gathering flowers

by moonlight’s glow.

Villagers stoned me

hurled rocks against bone

I was seventeen then

somehow managed to survive

even though they left me

brutalized and unconscious.

I was always innocent

thinking I could help

a natural scientist

a healer herbalist.

But the mob never understands

what they fear in the dark

so they worship it in action

through killing innocents

wise innocence

virginal sacrifice scapegoat.

When will history change

instead of repeat?

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