Pyrite

I.
Baser emotions are blasphemy,
Rutting animals racing through the dark.

II.
Freedom is an illusion fed us by the old.
"Trust me," she said. "I've been around a time
Or six."
Either you are a whore
Or a deluded fool.

III.
It reminds me of a church,
And, lo! The windows are of finest glass:
Red of guilt,
Blue of guile,
Green of bitterness,
Yellow of death.
Is it any wonder?

IV.
"Trust me,"
I whispered back mockingly.
"I know just where to cut."

V.
Sometime during the night an angel landed on the roof,
Feathered wings brushing innocent dreams
Barely dancing across the starry sky.
In the morning, well-

VI.
Royalty has finally found us!
Clad in purple splendor, my lord,
You have ridden in to save us!
Burn the witch!
BURN HER!

VII.
Baser emotions are blasphemy

VIII.
Trust me when I tell you,
There was a story aching to be told.
One angel fell into the night,
One lost soul found the light.
One church was burned for wicked ways,
One whore found salvation from a blade.
One girl was saved,
One lord paid,
One story was lost, but found its way.

IX.
In the morning, the sun merely rose.
"Such a pity!"
"Such a shame!"
"So young!"
Walk not the streets when the church is watching.
Walk not the streets when the preacher is coming.

X.
So surely must one thing end
For another to
BEGIN