My mind grows coldly Jesuit;
my heart an empty conduit
of science turned to antics almost tribal.
Triumph is a funeral pyre
reduced to ashes of desire
and hope is just a Jew who reads the Bible.
Consequently people come
and go from the proscenium
that frames the staging of a dark revival.
Misdirected by applause,
I never saw the gaping jaws.
Corruption feeds the engine of survival.
I live a brute theology
linked to toxicology
set on the altar of anticipation.
A Homily of blood and fist
precedes a violent Eucharist.
My God rewards me for prevarication.
There is no good in charity.
Repentance, just a parody.
I will not hold the strength of my conviction.
The darkest truth I won't deny:
my Faith in Pain is such that I
would sacrifice myself in crucifixion.
Let there be a God to damn.
There can not be a tender Lamb
to lead me not unto my dark temptation.
We die for want of a caress
and it will be this way unless
we worship not Creator, but Creation.
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