A Guest Unseen.

What wings are these
That hasten me
To take my leave?
For in this hushed solemnity
Am I no longer companionless?

Here,
On this firmament
Light shines only-
It does not resonate from
within.

He,
the martyr,
Trained of tongue
and keen of ear
Trods his way to ethereal shores
To bathe
Not in the blood of men,
But in their sin.
The sin so rightly ours
That only one need parish.
For this birthright.

Laughable.
Audible rings resounding in the hearts an souls of men to weak
To lift eyes to an illusion of a sky,
Slight of hand in the arms of god.

And we
The cancer
Devour a gift
So benevolently bestowed
Beneath five toes.

Five fingers.

Folded in empty prayer.
Words molding
And fraying like old cotton
Falling from the mouth,
And Rolling from the tongue.
A tongue that could
Just as easily
Lick clean the wounds of the hurt
And offer peace to the dying
But rather
Slashes and slanders the
Children of god.

Oh god,
What have we become?
Science destroying mystery,
Mystery provoking science
Science destroying beauty?
What will be left when the door is finally closed?
And we are abandoned
Heads full of knowledge,
But blind to the world.
Feeding like worms on the rot
We can scientifically call
Putrefaction

Rotting:
something we do best alone.
We do not have a thief to our left
And a one at our right.
To fade from life with
Nailed to a cross
Arms spread wide
As if waiting to embrace
Our father
God.
Christ.
what will become of us?