Templar. Poem by John C. Smith

Stone buildings around a courtyard.
Cobblestones beneath my feet.
Black studded oaken doorways,
flickering torches; window grilles.
The changing of the guards, and
the whistling of the wind
around the cells beneath.
All this I see and hear before they come.

I steel myself at their footsteps
in case- - - - - - .
But no! I will not disgrace myself,
or any that I love.
I will stay true to my beliefs.
They come; with jangling keys
and clanging doors,
marching feet and chanting priests.
We walk along the shadowed way,
until we reach the light of day.
Cheering crowds, like dogs at bay
are silenced;
momentarily.
I halt at the sight of the pyre;
but prodded, I proceed.
Then tied hand and foot
amongst the faggots
I await the smell of smoke.
And in the silence that ensues
the crackling of the wood is loud;
and I see the faces
of the crowd
through the orange flames.