The Romans failed to catch the pirates, but they found and punished their women
They know they don't need to chain or tie us,
or manhandle us to the crosses.
They are everywhere ...
our men nowhere ... far at sea, perhaps already lost.
There's nowhere to run, no point in resisting.
Being a pirate's bride was one could say a choice
(even if, for some of us only a slit throat and dumped into the sea would have been the alternative)
... still a choice, with some benefits we've had, now we pay.
Don't judge us too harshly, we did try to grab our weapons and fight,
but there were so many of them, they were so strong,
and they came in the darkest hour.
We've spent the dawn and morning under their command,
tearing down our cabins,
where we'd hoped to raise families,
so there will be wood for bodies to hang from ... for us to squirm on...
our children destined now to grow up slaves of Rome.
Now it's time,
just one more moment,
then we'll split up and go to our fate.
For each of us at the waterline,
our death-cross waits, eager to drink our lives,
looking out to Rome-owned water.
One last time the sand under our bare feet and between our toes,
soft and sinking first, firmer then when the calmly lapping waves are near.
The last ground our feet will walk upon.
I'll get up on the barrel and lift my arms up high,
they'll rope me tightly and let me hang,
as my crucifier steps up, and nails sink between my bones.
Then they'll let me hang screaming,
till I beg them to nail my feet,
which they'll gladly do.
And then remains the hard work of dying,
crying, thirsting, burning, squirming,
slowly drowning,
staring out across a silver sea,
suffer under godless sky.
The pic keeps giving me the creeps, since the priestess's looks ressemble a good friend of mine.
