In times past told of stories old
Dark creatures walked the earth,
When strife and greed on mounted steeds
Gave life to an evil curse.
False accusations from close relations
Left them swinging by a rope,
But now in the Hollow the dead will swallow
Leaving the accusers without a stitch of hope.
For if hell is real they will hear the shrill
Rising from the graves,
To exact revenge with bodies scared and singed
For the injustice that was made.
They will twist their minds for all the crimes
Until their sanity is no more,
But leave the bodies intact stretched out on the rack
Then drift back into the moors.
To their earthen homes of tomes and bones
In peace they now will dwell,
For while they were here their names were smeared
For Salem’s ghosts there is no hell.
Bruce Rowe © 2009