The pyre ascends, a fiery throne,
Whereon the heretic sits alone.
His flesh, a canvas for the flame,
A living sacrifice, a martyr's name.
The crowd, a sea of faces grim,
Their eyes alight with fervor dim.
For heresy, a sin so vile,
Deserves a punishment that will defile.
The smoke ascends, a choking haze,
Obscuring truth in a morbid maze.
He cries out, not in pain or fear,
But for the dogma that he held so dear.
The flames engulf, a searing kiss,
Consuming all, a fiery abyss.
His spirit soars, though body burns,