Inquisition

Now Clothe Myself Entirely -
Strutting in the Chapel
Father’s Stern Propriety
Forbids Our Smallest Apple.

Next I’ll fly, a Spirit Bold,
Through the Judge's Door -
My Dress Thrown Down upon the Gold,
He sees My Secret Core.

May I then Contrive a Rule
To Free me from the Curse,
The Rope, the Rack, the Iron Tool
The Black Eternal Hearse?


(Most readers will notice that this is intended to imitate the style of Emily Dickinson.)