Spook
October 6th, 2011, 10:21 AM
The Sin Of Bellangiras
It was midnight when she disappeared
Upon a silver mare
The winds roar and howl
Grabbing at her hair
The twisted fingers of the great oaks
Grab and rip her dress
The sharp razors of the rain
Pounding on her flesh
A baby snuggled between her arms
Spawn of the devil
She rides, eyes stinging with tears
Her appearance sad and disheveled
To the lake of crystal blue
The horse gallops along grass,
Fresh with dew
She rides, tresses flowing
The child,
Unknowing
Under the crystal lake
Is a sunken old trunk
In the murky depths of water
Is a sin that has sunk
The lake is Deep
And dark
And dangerous
This is the story of the sin
Of Bellangiras
In the morning she returns
Child no longer in her arms
Passing the fields
The rolling green farms
The witch is tied naked
To a high charred up stake
On a pile of dead tyrants
She will be joining their fate
They push and they probe her
They tease and they adore
The witch whom had sunken
The devil of Anhor
Twas five to the hour
They struck up a match
The witch smiles bravely
And they open the hatch
A fire sparks beneath her hanging corpse
Dirty and poor
And the true devil we know at last
Has left the realm of Anhore
Okay--so this is a sort of story of mine, in poem form. Bellangiras is the woman in the story, and this was in the early centuries, where they believed she was a witch. She believed that her newborn child was born from the devil. So...she rides on a horse to a lake, puts her baby in a trunk, and sinks it alive. When the villagers see her baby has disappeared, their suspicions of her being a witch grow greater; and they decide to hang her, AND burn her-as to rid the evil life form from the earth- forever. Their village is called Anhore, if you haven't caught on. :D
It was midnight when she disappeared
Upon a silver mare
The winds roar and howl
Grabbing at her hair
The twisted fingers of the great oaks
Grab and rip her dress
The sharp razors of the rain
Pounding on her flesh
A baby snuggled between her arms
Spawn of the devil
She rides, eyes stinging with tears
Her appearance sad and disheveled
To the lake of crystal blue
The horse gallops along grass,
Fresh with dew
She rides, tresses flowing
The child,
Unknowing
Under the crystal lake
Is a sunken old trunk
In the murky depths of water
Is a sin that has sunk
The lake is Deep
And dark
And dangerous
This is the story of the sin
Of Bellangiras
In the morning she returns
Child no longer in her arms
Passing the fields
The rolling green farms
The witch is tied naked
To a high charred up stake
On a pile of dead tyrants
She will be joining their fate
They push and they probe her
They tease and they adore
The witch whom had sunken
The devil of Anhor
Twas five to the hour
They struck up a match
The witch smiles bravely
And they open the hatch
A fire sparks beneath her hanging corpse
Dirty and poor
And the true devil we know at last
Has left the realm of Anhore
Okay--so this is a sort of story of mine, in poem form. Bellangiras is the woman in the story, and this was in the early centuries, where they believed she was a witch. She believed that her newborn child was born from the devil. So...she rides on a horse to a lake, puts her baby in a trunk, and sinks it alive. When the villagers see her baby has disappeared, their suspicions of her being a witch grow greater; and they decide to hang her, AND burn her-as to rid the evil life form from the earth- forever. Their village is called Anhore, if you haven't caught on. :D