The Sacrifice Poem by Mark Heathcote
The Sacrifice
Light edges near a sword put in ashes
waved aloft as an executioner
looks on with his rabble minion and does
what the world of him requires, with fibre
he wheels a blade, thunder-lightening-smote
he wheels it high, where darkness drips with blood
slakes into a river, a gouging cutthroat
makes-his sacrifice; picks his rosebud.
Sunday, September 21, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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5/6/2024 9:33:00 PM # 1.0.0.1119
