Execution of my reason began
Before the house lights fell
Intoxication of sanity, creeping
Prelude to the spell
Faceless forms approach the stage
As spotlights pierce the mist
Naked in the crowd, I fear
I am not prepared for this
The executioner draws his axe
Palm pressed against the neck
Strings bow in thrall to the Master
Whose touch commands respect
Demanding no less than perfection
The opposing hand strikes & provokes
Forging life from the inanimate
With the magick he invokes
Passion projected from soul to sound
Power felt as well as heard
And I cry in recognition of things
For which there are no words
The Prophet speaks in minor keys
Like the dirge of a martyr
Embracing death rather than renounce
His faith for that of another
Truth penetrates all matter
As I'm raped by the divine
Leaving me impregnated
With what I'd fear I'd find
© 2006 Temerity
Copying this work to another webpage without author permission is plagiarism.
Plagiarism is a misdemeanor, usually punishable by fines of $100-$50000 and up to one year in jail.
Printed from www.DarkPoetry.com/dp/13961/91941 on Tuesday December 02nd, 2008 06:00 PM
Certain elements © 1996-2008 Matthew Steven (matts.org)
Comments on The Minstrel of Truth