Narration

Feels like I am going downhill with a narration such as this.

The night they brought her to Orange Grove,
The night was dark and grey.
Hands tied behind her back,
on the muddy floor she lay.

Thunder cracked, the sky growled-
heaven enraged; the winds blew.
It was deep, dark in the woods;
fear stirred, in her heart grew.

The pale sky overcast and
the darkness in her eyes left,
a pleading look; my heart shook.
I turned away; left.

Oh the dastard – the coward;
the brave would have said.

Thence came the ministers
the jurors and the jury.
Dignitaries in black turbans
(but that wasn’t the only kind)
I could but complain in fury.

There were the ministers,
the ministers of they fate.
The temptress they pronounced
“the Earth itself must hate”

Their words were heavy,
in ominous tones announced,
the crimes she had committed
against the Holy crown. 

Their voices rose,
a man come forth said:
“You are the sick breath
of His hated enemy.
I hope this be your death.
If I ever loved you,
I hate myself for that.”

The simplistic bastard spouts -
reductionist crap?

They had prepared for her,
a special place in hell.
The dark tresses I loved
matted in the mud. Oh Tess!

Later:

Sound, fury, anger, and hate depart.
The sad music plays; the music of her heart.
Defenseless they take her to the stake.
“Burn now” They sing the hymns; praise.

The sun is better than I,
the sky overcast.
Moonlight filters in,
the fantasy departs.
The new day may rise
my sister is lost.
Her warmth has left me.
The end at last.