Three Voices at a Burning

[tectak]

1.
Witch,
your abundance is mine.
We'll sing together,
I of pious things,
confession and work,
waking on a Sunday
to a sweet country breeze;
you of holy pain.

You're sanctified, my dear.
The dog in his master's field
lays among the wheat
and looks, unknowing, at God.
He is no woman's imp.

2.
Ignore 'im, girl,
I'll kill ya' first, garotte ya' with me knots,
spare ya' the pain.
You'll be dead before ya' ashes, kid.

(Pretty little bitch,
shame she 'as to go, I'd sort 'er out,
she'd never 'urt me. No spells,
nun' o' this witchin' shit'.
She'd cook me a lam' and sit at me 'nee.)

3.
I REPENT! I REPENT!
OGODHEARMENOWIREPENT
PLEASEACCEPTMEPLEASEACCEPTME

(I don't regret that fuckin' pig
squirmin' on me floor;
poison his porridge, give 'im 'is drink...
I should'a jus' let 'im
die on the ale'ouse steps,
rottin' shirt o' vap'rous meat.)

GODIAMREPENTANTIAMASINNERIREPENT
GODILOVEYOUPLEASEACCEPTME
PLEASEACCEPTMEPLE-

Hi hes,
I was tempted to let this one languish. You have sacrificed cause for effect. The whole thing is a generic mish-mash. This is me not liking it one teeny bit. Others might. I can offer but one piece of useful crit...make it poetry.
Sorry, but you have gone all self-gratifying with this. There is nothing for me here. Shit happens.
Best,
tectak