Actus Contritionis

That bullet was for me. The empty
hall, fatal voyage,
the destroyer of republics. Know

this, we rise from your tears, not
ours, we
emerge from rust,
grow roses from your corpses.

Knee deep in the cold mud
of idol induced trauma, we have

dodged swings of swords from kings;
swallowed fire, embers, ash;
rang the bells three times
for lethal transubstantiation.

It’s raining blades now, blood
lays a scarlet veil over the eyes. We

see the crows are coming, you better
be ready for judgement day.