| Burning like derision on the prism of night
|
| Still squirming from the sermon, those determined parasites
|
| Meant to overpower and bedizen his light
|
| He paced his tower prison with a dissonant appetite
|
| The moon was black
|
| Devil may care
|
| Three times he’d glared before his judges
|
| Darkening there
|
| With a Wormwood mind
|
| And a gullet of poison
|
| Asked
|
| He thought the court a farce
|
| His tongue as sharp as glass
|
| A bastard to the last
|
| This truth assassin…
|
| .tautened his claws at the ruinous cast
|
| Flexing vexation at clerics aghast
|
| In uproar he caused the cross to be masked
|
| And the hex of exile from God’s Kingdom passed
|
| Back in the mirror, shattered vanity died
|
| The curse even clearer on the sanity side
|
| Banished from the lavish tracts of paradise
|
| From Heaven’s shores poured to the sore divide
|
| The moon was black
|
| Devil may care
|
| Their thunder sundered all his veils
|
| Thickening there
|
| His belligerent pulse
|
| To a sickening crawl
|
| Yes
|
| He’d fostered wickedness
|
| Fed vipers at his breast
|
| Inflicted death’s caress
|
| So now to suffer…
|
| He’d burn, discern
|
| That his second turn
|
| Would last for eternity
|
| In reckoning flames
|
| That night his plight marched in demented parades
|
| O’er a rainbow of black magic scars
|
| The blood ran to fear, turned to torment in spades
|
| Deep in the sleep of this heretic, barred
|
| The nightmares were livid, occultist, depraved
|
| His epiphany struggled to come
|
| But dawn found him there, redemptive, prepared
|
| Like Christ to Golgotha, his face to the sun
|
| All fears were smeared
|
| When Joan had appeared
|
| In a shower of tears
|
| Last vestige of innocence
|
| Yearning for her vision of divinity
|
| Of her miracles and dreamt lyrical deeds
|
| He would meet her at the pyre as the fire kissed
|
| And together they’d climb to God, entwined in bliss
|
| Devil may care
|
| He awed the court with a sworn confession
|
| Quickening there
|
| His radiant death
|
| And acute renewal
|
| Thus
|
| The end was glorious
|
| He went like Jesus trussed
|
| To shadow and to dust
|
| At the stroke of seven
|
| And
|
| With thieves at both his hands
|
| The Reaper of these lands
|
| Wept with holy plans
|
| As he choked to heaven |