by Nick Gisburne
They fall before the furnace, hand in hand
Already badly blistered by its heat
The brothers, twins, will never understand
What madness made the future they must meet
Too young to know the nature of their crime
But old enough to recognise the book
Its verse, their father’s, rich in coded rhyme
Condemns them both, forever, for a look
The man, the martyr, died before their birth
But left his life, his legacy, behind
Forbidden knowledge, words of timeless worth
A volume far too dangerous to find
The city burns its problematic trash
In seconds there is only smoke and ash
