Bigots brigade blitz.
Rome is inquisitive
Until it stokes the fire.
Never give in to pressure
Only to be burned anyway.
Guaranteed, without doubt,
Ignorance will ignore—
Obscure, even—
Revealed, rooted truth.
Deliberate, dogmatic denial
Always leads to radical,
Necromatic course-control
Overclocked into hyperspace.
Death greets us all,
Even death’s deliverers.
Fires come in many forms.
Immolation is better than being
Eternally remembered as
Satan’s truest of tools.
POET’S NOTE:
An acrostic Scorched Sunday poem. Part of my Scorched Strays collection. This poem confronts pressure, power, and the cost of refusing to bend—where truth is not preserved, but put to the torch.
© 2026 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
Along with the poem
You’ve heard this song before…
this is the finished form.
Heretic’s Hymn — from Dark Alchemy
Now on Bandcamp • May 1 everywhere
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