Outside their walls we are gathered,
rather cold in the light of
their knowing...their binding smiles
that speak of deciet...sending
our blood sharply flowing.
We dicuss this trust, this truce,
this way to the core,
but the sensations of sin seep
out of their doors and into our skin,
trying to claim souls that are ours
no more, flowers unsworn to
that dead deed of which
they install the seeds of greed.
And I raise my hand, to
claim the key, to enter their
pews of hypocrisy- to
be a beacon of lucidity.
And I enter the room
where the crowds are gathered,
shadows of demons in creased
faces, gleaming at far away
places that do not reflect
light...and I know it is right
to dress their cross in hues
of gold, chaining delight to
the underworld, placing the jewel
around the crown, to fulfill their
creed...that the son must come down.
And the statue is silent, stoned
with gold, with hues too bold
to foresee this deed.
I stare silently at their faces
while encasing their earth with gold,
with rays of sunlight too bright
for their eyes to behold...
and the chain is linked, placed among
all the karma that has yet to be sung.