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The smell of skin burning rises to me more slowly than the pain
Fire burns, but not so hotly as the hate around me
Smokes come to me, and I inhale as if it were Truth
Flames embrace my ankles, my calves, my thighs
I scream the Pure Names. They will hear but not understand.
My soul is my own, and will not burst into flame,
Gifted from my Lady, and always given back to me whole.
The pain stops, the sounds blur, the smells mute,
The fools and demons below can hurt me no more.
My heart cries, "Io Evoe!" and the Lord comes forward to welcome me...
Muirgheas Caliban (yes, another nom de plume, but it's me)
date unknown, but I'm guessing around 1996-1997
inspired by the painting of the same title by R. J. Johnson
Copyright and published at the time I wrote it, but I can't find the online copies; renewed 2004 by Gerald L. "Moss" Bliss