Martyr's Bliss Poem by Trevor Toews

Martyr's Bliss



The shrieking crowd,
Hungry snarl of beasts,
Hot, blood-soaked sand.
All this
Was not as loud,
As the call to feast,
In a quiet land
An outstretched hand,
Ah bliss!

Trevor Toews
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
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Poems By Trevor Toews
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Trevor Toews

Trevor Toews

Neilburg, SK Canada
Trevor Toews
Trevor Toews
Neilburg, SK Canada
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