The Hag of Butcher Hill

Beware the hag of Butcher Hill

 Maria WAS her name 

She lost her love decades ago

 Has never been the same. 

 She likes them young with bodies strong 

and faces pure and fresh

 She finds once dead these are much easier

 to lay across her breast. 

 The boys would laugh when they were warned

 and venture up the hill

 Seems they didn't want to believe 

No matter how much blood was spilled.

 But young Tom Clark was not the same

 had no interest in the dare

 The last he saw of his friend Ralph

 was when he entered there. 

 The house was quaint in looks alone

 and reeked of awful smells 

 in the evening you'd hear her sing

 chanting awful spells  

Low and behold at dawn they'd dance 

Young men silhouetted in shadows grey 

Their bright eyes wide, their minds asleep

 Her song would forever stay

 Within their thoughts like the piper's snakes

 No thoughts of saying no

 Compelled to dance in witch's light 

Knowing where they were to go.

 And dance into her arms they did 

She held them tight and close 

Stealing breath and stealing blood 

of stealing youth, she'd boast. 

 But young Tom Clark resisted well 

Like none Maria had known 

She sent her snakes to eat his brain 

but emptied bellied they returned home. 

 For young Tom knew all too well 

From where her power came 

with his prayers and tokens of faith 

this demon he would tame. 

 In sunlight bright, on seventh day 

he landed at her door 

while she was sleeping off her gorge 

from the night before. 

 Below the bodies, some old, some new 

She slept the sleep of death  

grabbing courage, finding strength

 young Tom took his step 

 The blade was sharp the steel was strong 

Silver forged of myth 

With fierce yell and bold brute force 

Into her form it slipped 

The blood that pooled was oiled black 

the scream would haunt his days 

but he knew within his heart 

no more would the hag. 

 Late that night, he'd raise a glass 

swear the secret would never be spoken  

from his pocket he pulled a reminder, 

Much more than simple token 

One lone finger, one long red nail 

to be buried in sacred earth 

He swore his silence to the sky  

vowed the hag would know no rebirth. 

 Beware the Hag of Butcher Hill 

who walks in shadows, haunts at night 

She seeks the soul of poor Tom Clark 

but any may feel her bite. 

 It's Poetics at dVerse and Claudia Schoenfeld is prompting magic, myth and fairy tales at the pub! Stop on by and share your own, or grab a drink and read the work of some of the best poets penning online!