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Rated: E · Poetry · Philosophy · #1990124
A poem about god, freedom, and fear of freedom
Our lady of sin


Hail, most holy of angels; you guide us evermore.

Praise be to thine father; the grandest designer from a time long before.

Fall far down the line, stray long from the path,

Soon you shall feel the shepherd's wrath.

A cattle am I, a sheep are you; 

From our herd, the butcher does slew. 

Death awaits inside our pen,

But death, the same, outside, again.


Our lady dost comfort us;

Keep us from fear.

But the sons do frighten us,

Of the outside, so near.

A cruel game of cold and cold,

A final insult, that they may stay their hold.


My turn draws near; the butcher's come.

The gates, now open, but my legs, now numb.

Not drug, not fear that holds me and my kin,

But a comforting look from my lady of sin.



© Copyright 2014 Corvo Starke (cstarke at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1990124-Our-Lady-of-Sin