The Last Martyr Poem by Nicolas Palacios

Trapped on the ridge, hollow and alone,
A song of misfortune beckons me home.
Catch me wind, toss me aside,
The earth is your maiden in gracious disguise.
I howl the song to the stars and the sand,
My call is in vain, and yet I still stand.
Precious earth, yet unripe to be loved,
Tainted by sin say the clouds up above,
Carry the sorrow only one more day,
And you will find grace.
Capture the hearts of the enamored,
A deceptive scheme indeed,
Of misinterpreted illusion your people clamor,
Like the sprouting dishonest seed.
My mind is silent and my lungs are numb,
But still I sing, until the moon slays the sun.
I strain and I fight until my spirit is weak,
And my purpose is naught but a dull grey streak.
I am a martyr.