"Our" Sacrifice

1350_1_The_human_sacrifice_myth_1[1]

“Our” Sacrifice

poetry by Silencio Barnes

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

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