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Thursday, April 04, 2013

Immolation

Her friends they did weep, as she fell asleep;
Their anguish, their pain, both very deep.
Above them she stood, with steel in her eyes;
And a radiant smile, in the face of the lies.

She’d given her all, in the fight for her land;
Others had joined her, all hand in hand.
She was but young, still only fourteen;
The Maid of Orleans, as if she be Queen.

Battle ‘pon battle, she led them to win;
All in the name, of the French Dauphin.
Her, he let down, as she fought for him;
All she did wish, was him to be King.

Alone now she stood, tied to a pole;
Glowing most holy, the depths of her soul.
Issued no sound, immolations flames higher;
Just her body consumed, in the hot raging fire!

St Joan of Arc.

© 19 August 2012
  (Revised 20 August 2012)
  (Revised 22 August 2012)