I am tired of these
manacles around my ankles,
tired of the cold, the damp,
of the deepening dark.
I am weary of itching, of aches,
and my own foul smell.
I have grown sick of nasty men’s trousers,
of the soldiers’ fists and threats of rape.
I thought I would be moved to a church prison
when I signed their abjuration,
but I returned to the same cell.
They lied. They have always lied.
I thought I might escape death,
might find a way to escape a new prison
and return to the fresh air,
but I see now that will never be my fate.
I must die for my beliefs.
But the fire—
I still quake with fear.
Without a guiding voice,
my thoughts unravel.
I am constantly negotiating
a terrain of sight and blindness.
I feel so terribly alone.
I pray that God
steadies my nerves
and prepares my soul.
I pray He sends me courage,
because right now
I need to be filled with something
greater than fear.