Your world
Wasn’t ready
For me
Without equal
My presence
Alone
Was a penance
The people
Conflated with faith
In a wraith
Of some holy
Unfinished
Crusade
But a plague’s
All I bade them
And made
Of their fate
For awaiting them still
Remains
Nothing but grave
Revelations that chill
Even my bones to stave
Off the stone fusillades
Cast my way,
Casting shade
On the shame-basking
Maim parades
From which I hang
My head low in dismay
Pray tell,
How mistaken
To think I could save
Even more so forsaken
Slaves,
Clutching my chains