The Sacrifice
M
Mark Heathcote
0
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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.
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