Inquisitorial March.

by the flames of their ire, do the glass panes rattle
bitter heartaches and soot-smeared hymns;
a cacophony of heresy screams from the center
where pastoral eyes and timidly wounded children
were demanded to watch the burning of their ilk
like dirty laundry aired over a bonfire.

a jewel of culture, where trade is all faith and no fathom
they cannot allow nor tolerate those that chose
to follow a love they will not understand.



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