Throe, Fury, Smudge

Ashes on the brick
Of the square under my feet
 
Behold the jet-black pile
Soiling the stones, tombing my feet
Witness the smouldering pillar
In the shape of cross, vomiting heat
The contaminating, polluting beast
 
Thousands of fools roar in rage
Shake the brick of this stage
Where I am burnt, digested by fire
Banished from crowd, punished with ire
 
Oh, Anna, my sister,
You are a heap of cinder
 
But your soul, a bright butterfly
Soars to smudged vault of sooted sky
Before it mounts away there, pierces the thick smog
It looks upon the masses, lets fall single teardrop
 
The bitter-sweet liquid substance
Sprung within without wrath
 Absorbs the fury in the darkness
 Of their little charmed minds
 
 It suffers pain they bear throughout
 The cascade of grey dull days
 Without any condemnation
 You forgive them your death
 
 But I stand amid the ashes
 Those just were a breathing life
 And I swear for all these aches
 To grab the honest throe-full price