Devils Hunt Devils

Cranberry curls frame her fragile face And her eyes, they bristle brilliant She escapes along the moonlit path The terrors of night coherent Chirping and chanting distract the mistress Yet she brushes the taunts off quietly She fumbles to a tree, cuddles to the cold Whispering guiltless pleas of piety Leaning to the willow, in drowning defeat She soothes her lungs and listens They’ve got pitchforks and knives and shovels and dogs She can hear them into the distance Her eyes smolder with sadness, and now her stress slackened hair Flows like waterfall waves of wine She curses the day she followed that shadow And the mistaken stain on her spine The mark of a monster, or so they whispered Their gossip spread wildfire fiction And here pants the maiden running from those Relying on bibles as jurisdiction At the aurora of morning, from the willow pendulously placed Hordes of hellions praised her absence Following fear they flocked forward and forgot the girl That hung like the “i” of innocence