Shackles, bind their hands.
women walked up the steep hill.
Their shackles clinking against their sides,
The walk felt it was going too fast.
Approaching their deaths.
Horrible things happened there.
And unmeasurable terror,
there, in Salem.
The Noose was strung up to a tree.
Tied tightly, with no escape.
These women, wrongly blamed.
Because in everyone's eyes
they were evil/
Taken away from their families.
From their lovers.
How did they face these deaths?
Did they cry? Did they beg for their lives?
Were they apathetic about it all? mute to their emotions?
The blood in the soil...
does it remain in Salem?
Do their souls roam the town.
searching for avengement?
For their loved ones?
Will we ever know what happened on the hill in Salem...