The Voices

A crucifix is what she wanted,
The only thing that soothed her,
Ofcourse other than the angel herself,
With her heavenly susurration.

She did so as always,
The stack won’t leave her anyway.
It never will listen to her,
For she had tried it before.

Now comes the peasant,
Having a cross from the world,
That indebted acceptance,
Straight in front of her dress.

It’s time for the final act,
The blaze is ready to set out,
It’s the only bright thing she saw tonight.
‘I cant see your brightness?’

Fire! Fire!!
Fire all over,
He body accepts the warmth,
For it still was searching her soul.

All those fights,
Despises,
Were not for her thoughts,
But for the voice.

Bring along the warrior’s coat,
For it fits her, alas.
Had she had a prettier one,
She wouldn’t have lived the saint.

‘May your sorrow end right here,
You have accomplished what you seeked’
Has she?
Then why the pain.

‘It’s the only way to finish the consecrated act,
A way to heighten the victory’s sweet pleasure.
The rood will put you in peace,
Just close your eyes and hold me.’

Charred the scent!!
High she felt,
For the angel hold the hands,
And took the Joan Of Arc away.