1540’s Europe

By Elvira

Because          the bread                     was deadly,
no taste did I partake: it
Served by                     prelate
Master Secretary,
the wine                      tainted,
by witch’s brew
new fear:                     impossible       to shake
the burning                  stake:              awaiting —
the Royal pleasure

Heretics           burnt                in Smithfield
attained           by false words,
How the wind, blows.
I move.
Secret.             Secret.             The catacombs cry with
the Sheltering              Arms of . . .
No martyr        I,          forbidden books,         hidden
the False Mask
insures            another
day.

But the Word Slips,
Jesu, does it
matter what FATHER   is called?

ALL      used    the second      to         engender
its        universal         accepts:

NOBODY         has                  a patent on the
TRUTH.

So, now Master                       light the FIRE!
Wood hear:
first the cloth —
then the flesh
nothing let —
bones crushed
throw   to water
,                       the cura           divested itself of
human morality
Now HE calls
the Same Name
I heard before
but aura real —
NO Human weight
can stop the
Journey

April 2016