Martyrs’ Praise

He powered them with Comfort

that they could bear

the awful things

the devil orchestrates.

The jeers of men, the fangs,

the claws in cage,

the human rage;

the demon potentates

The mobs had racked up all their

limbs for the stretch —

the grinding wheel

pulled by tormentors’ zeal.

They burned them and they boiled them

They made Saint Stew

they shut their eyes

forever with godless glue

But Satan could not prevail

by breaking backs

(for body is myth

but faith the stuff of facts).

And in the final inning

the devil lost the match;

for each time a martyr dies

his soul doth Jesus catch!

About Pete Mladineo

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