Death Crown

Beneath Carthage skies they stood so still,

Chains on wrists but spirits free,

Perpetua’s voice defied the will

Of empire, sword, and decree.

Felicity wept not for her pain,

But for the child she’d barely held.

Yet through her cries, a strength remained

A fire no jailer quelled.

The beasts were loosed, the crowd drew near,

Blood sang loud on thirsty stone.

But faith stood taller than their fear,

Their deaths were not their own.

A trembling hand, a final breath,

She guided it with tender grace.

Not conquered in the jaws of death—

But crowned in that fierce place.