Shouting,
Cheering,
Yelling,
Jeering.

A sea of heads as far as the eye
Can see and further more.
Some on the ground looking up
And some above looking down.

Some in freshly clean clothes
While others wear tattered rags.
A sea of different colors
Becoming one for a day.

Some are drunk with power
While some are drunk with booze.
Some are bonded by blood
And others bonded by the same cause.

This is a day that many will look
Back on as the masses gather
And forget their differences
To become one for one cause:

My execution.

I stare down from the haggard pyre
That was built by the Church,
Calm yet filled with adrenaline.

I am not one of them.
I am not a slave to their "god"
So they fear me and the truths
That I speak and spread to those.

So stuck in a way of brutality
And savagery.
Stuck in the ways of control
That they are blind to it all.

I am not of this world nor of
Their faith of lies.

So here I am,
To be immolated in front of the masses.

They seem to love a good execution.

The fire is lit by a robed priest,
Speaking a prayer in Latin
As the flames rise and kiss my legs.

The heat becomes unbearable immediately
And my skin begins to peel and melt,
Exposing my muscles, tendons, and bones
Before they, too, suffer the same fate.

And as this goes on,
The crowd grows louder and louder,
Taunting me to scream and beg
For mercy.

But what they don't know is that
Tied to this wood,
I was born for burning.