Zealotry Poem by Stefanie Fontker

Beat with broken bones
You now know well
Your life is not built
On the top of an alter
Zealot, you do prey
On the weakest of the weak
Try to remember
Blood sacrifices
Are only performed on
The Winter Solstice
Muttering, stuttering
Language of fools
You write too quickly
In a book none wish
To read, nor publish
Eating raw fish and grass
You live in a place
Too far away, hidden
Like your sanity
If it exists in this world
None will ever know
Clothes made of pelts
You snap the necks
Of more animals
Than I have ever met
Teeth and feet black
You need a healer
Or a medicine man
These are the witches
You refuse to meet
They'll speak
A civilized language
Shriek in your ears
Steal your memories
And you'll no longer
Be able to understand
The words of
The trees and the stars