The Unknown Saint

Bent was the sword that sliced the throat of a saint

Bent was the will that commanded it

Bent was the heart of the bearer of the hilt

And the crowd ugly, the crowd ravenous, the crowd bloodthirsty and jeering

The crowd carried the pieces of the man home

The crowd fed him to their hounds

The crowd craves the next execution

The saint will be unrecorded

No prayer or stained glass window

His blood will dry and wash away

There will not be another like him

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