Of Steeples and Lambs

These eyes open wide still see but a fraction,
This face blank and mobile displays the soul;
Dark and craven, this heart sluggishly beats,
The resounding prayer of sullen defeat,
This traitorous depiction of loneliness toll.

We bend our backs to the will of “God”,
Bearing our crosses, weighed by our sins;
We face your glory, our inadequacy proclaimed
By your holy representatives left behind, who bear your cross
As a symbol of belief, to beat our backs
Bloody and raw, the imprint of cross in stripes of condemnation.

We scream and pray, and beg to be shown the way,
Yet somehow the rains of blessing are withheld
In favor of fire and brimstone, fire and death;
The soothing promised was mere inflammation,
The care sought was pure defamation;
Beating down on already bended knee,
Forcing complete and agonizing surrender to pitiless One.

Face down degradation to torture flesh with tortured soul,
Delight in ripping apart the fragile bindings that kept men whole;
The glee that forced the beggar’s hand,
The voices that drive wise men mad,
Knowingly struggle and confine and bind,
Now broken inside, peace no longer can find
The fragments of once glorious abode;
Trampled by impervious One –cold

Heartless cruel master.


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