Ash Wednesday........ Poem by John Tansey

Your words cut,
gut and disembowel me
as the crude, roughly hewn edge
of a black, obsidian blade.

Tied, spreadeagled,
across a stone slab,
atop the temple mount.
The high priest
and his minions
rip out my bleeding
but still beating heart

As my blood marches through the grooves,
like soldiers into the abyss;

Dripping into four adobe goblets;
A virgin waiting at each one.

This is what my whole life has been for;
To be martyred, sacrificed.
Like animals we kill to eat,

I was bred for the slaughter...