The Martyr

While I’m confined within thick granite walls, and tortured! Fast held by shackle and bond. My unchained soul, roams through freedom’s halls, seeking peace and tranquility beyond! Strong though this cell is built, to keep me here, and unyielding are the bands that hold me, still no chains were ever forged, that I shall fear. No brutal force can bend, or break my will! Gaolers can vent their wrath upon my flesh, with fiery steels, dipped in the red hot flame, but though they proceed with tortures afresh, I’ll not submit, to bear a coward’s shame. They’ll soon know it is a useless measure, for they cannot touch the mettle in my soul. Frustrated, they'll torture now for pleasure. Mindless puppets, eager to play their role! When my life sheds this mortal frame for good; and my spirit flees from all earthly constraints it, released from the dread, staunchly withstood, will tread in the steadfast footsteps of Holy Saints. when I suffer no more torment, or vile curses, embracing Nirvana, will cleanse me of pain! Swiftly as my anguished soul traverses Life’s confines! My spirit freed, will live again! The extinquished spark, which once was me, will leave them lesser men! Death for my Belief, effects me no disgrace, nor obscene indignity! Death ever awards its just reward! Glorious relief! Rhymer February 2nd, 2017.