The Capture of Anselma

Poor Indian maiden,
crowded down and shrinking in fear,
cast her arms about her bodice
shrouded by a symbol of her status
her dark long hair
as the darkness hovered
crouched down like a child
afraid to look up
to face her foes,
she grew cold
assaulted with piercing laughter,
the deception of sinister thoughts
circling like buzzards
squawking and parading
in a spiraling fashion.

In the face of descent
a body of light
approached her
offering his services
and demanding a price.
The childlike woman was afright
by the looming vicissitudes
but of the emboldened man,
she felt no fear.
And without asking the price,
agreed in an instant.
Curiously she watched
as the white flames
encircled her Sire
transferring and encircled her.
A thunderous, cacophonous crash
rumbled around her
and she covered her ears
to muffle the cries
of her stalkers
as they shrieked with agony
and scampered in the dust.

White-hot flames danced
from her Sire
whose hairless crown
cast a golden glow.
Her stalkers now gone,
she gazed upward
and felt warmth once more.

Reaching out his hand,
the woman-child moved nearer,
reaching out also.
Tranquility forever shattered
as the golden stranger
grasped Anselma’s lower arm
and gripping tightly,
she winced.

White-hot fire marked the woman
leaving permanent testament to their fiery contract.
Then gently taking her hand,
the two vanished from the dark horizon.
The child-like woman, fearful no longer
yet bound to the glowing God-man.
And across the ages,
enacted her natural sorcery
in his name.

And low on patience,
he invoked a special force
the fire in her veins,
to conform his child-bride.
Unbeknownst to any
if this glowing God-man
were on par with the daemons of Ancient Canaan
and other Lords of light.

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