![1350_1_The_human_sacrifice_myth_1[1]](https://i0.wp.com/silenciobarnes.net/wp-content/uploads/2013/02/1350_1_The_human_sacrifice_myth_11.jpg "\"Our\" Sacrifice 2")
“Our” Sacrifice
She demanded that I cut open my shell
and let drip my burning soul
onto her frigid altar
The steam, she said, that arises
from such a conflagration
would rekindle that imaginary, burning, thing
that we thought we had lost
so long ago
She hands me the knife,
for no sacrifice is sacred
unless done by one’s own hand
We both held our breath
as I raised the blade to Our neck
And once again, as before
the sharp edge pierces only her
And she bleeds
And I, with impassive serenity,
walk away, as I have before
to leave her (bleeding out)
Her wounds will heal,
though I will provide no aide
So the scars: puckered, pulsating and fierce
shall remain
She will live, that we may play
this game, once again
Read More Poetry by Silencio Barnes
