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At dverse, Bjorn prompted us to write prose from poetry using the line “This is the barrenness of harvest and pestilence.”


I trudge the rows of the cemetery, remembering judgmental stares of hate tearing my life apart. Viewing lifeless tombs representing those who sought power and are now laying beneath a blanket that lives no longer. How could those people fall like the season thinking power would bring more?

There used to be  magical days of love and laughter. It ended the day they marched through our door and condemned my mother to death for her healing. There were no trials for the healers, only assured claims of witchery from fearful leaders to justify burning innocence at the stake.

My belief in love ended on that cold morning and as I stare at the tombs, I’m reminded that this is the barrenness of harvest and pestilence. I only hope the world will one day know that innocence and love heals, not power and fears.