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The sword reaped my head: I heard its whistling swipe: and quiet then. My vertebrae broke: so beads snap in a thumbed-frail rosary. No, I was never reluctant: martyrdom, you understand, is the fruiting time. Pistil and anther have conspired at this. A martyr is pregnant and must come to term: the daunting fullness of it all. Oh, we have
free will. But what can that phrase mean? What, when God is upon you like a leopard? And the sweet, scouring claws are in?
About the Author
D. Keith Mano was a TV screenwriter and author of ten books, including Take 5, recipient of the 1987 Literary Lion award, and columnist at National Review magazine for 17 years.
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The sword reaped my head: I heard its whistling swipe: and quiet then. My vertebrae broke: so beads snap in a thumbed-frail rosary. No, I was never reluctant: martyrdom, you understand, is the fruiting time. Pistil and anther have conspired at this. A martyr is pregnant and must come to term: the daunting fullness of it all. Oh, we have
free will. But what can that phrase mean? What, when God is upon you like a leopard? And the sweet, scouring claws are in?
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About the Author
D. Keith Mano was a TV screenwriter and author of ten books, including Take 5, recipient of the 1987 Literary Lion award, and columnist at National Review magazine for 17 years.
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