Trial Of Epicurea

The torturers shall have no bearing upon you: you'll weep
Not for your sorrows, nor for your words.
When the chains that shackled your arms,
Like hooks buried into your birthright,
Are removed, the flames of the field shall flee from you.
May the siren teach you her songs, fortified in harmony,
Now that you are freed; let the spittle of the greedy dogs
Not hamper your proud heart.The wolves with whips for tongues
Bite into your bones no more, your hardened flesh is
For the first time yours.Humdrum are all the walls
You encounterL all the licentious poets are in exile,
And the peasants feart the arrows of lice
Borne from the hand that burns temples of sky.
Rumours, from under the horses' hooves dangle into
Your entrails, target of blind vultures: Your
Eyes open to the madness of your masters
For so long now torching the fields of unicorns.
The furies of their whips do not bleed you anymore
But the measure of their sins weigh heavily on your scars
Now you seek to join those who wish to destroy them;
The hellish snakes with the purple robes
Shall descend upon the false altars and scream.
A lifetime of slavery has imprinted upon you
The masters instinct.Let it be known that the
Master's touch, however, will forever elude you.
Your cheeks are ablaze as you lead the conspiracy of smoke:
Dreams of assasination tormented by the old tales.
Miserably, you will fail: the officer with Lydia's smile
Will not lead you to your victory,
But will hand you over to your torturers.
Now your trial awaits you: the masters you sought
To overthrow, now confront your melancholy eyes
They ask you to renounce not just your freedom;
But the freedom of your fellow conspirators.
Beware: refutal shall only bring a second and third death,
Repeated in hours of moral illnesses.
Yet there is no other path to be taken.
You shall take the martyr's place: gold boiled upon earth:
Your limbs shall severe and rejoice upon the altar
Of east and west and your eyes shall be too
Frightened to weep.They shall demand you redeem yourself
To their shackles; they who do the bidding of false gods.
In time the hungry anti-gods shall tire of the sight
Of your flowing blood.Upon seeing no worth in you,
They shall throw you out into the gardens
Where your decapitated body shall become the pride
Of the true gods: the stars shall die crying your name!
Ah, darling little wrecth, how many wonders
You shall behold! And let thine images
Always be reflected in the tears of those
Who shall take upon themselves the tortures of liberation.