The dire cost of playing God
Spoken quiet slowly-pulsating drew his lines on
In a shrouded mist he drank the walls
Dripping the prayer knees under dew drops
Aligning these shadow thoughts creeping home
Vows taken with cloak and chamber
All too dark corridors drinking silence
Footing along bouncing shards
Feeding the wolves of his quiet; in secret
Bearing the knife as father
Hunting the nightmarish rooms
He slept the mist covered window shades
Born out of dogmatic defeatism
He swept hopes and glory in the stream
Of blood sinking down cold steel
Lips tender that kissed a cold shutter
Boys that tend hallow dreams
Overcome his piety
Sweet with shivering veins
Fervently occupying his blackened holiness
A ghostly sudden banshees
Dreads these overcoming blinks in conscience
Burning the cold hands he held
As light leaves he felt a righteousness in it
Culminating in him the yearning for life
He azures in shades of reds
Undying he sped his fancies
Festooning his art in splattered faces
His God complex reared in moonlight
He howled amidst crying sheets
Fingering his numb bones that shot a star
Into dim starlight with no one to hold
But his tattered soul of an man
Bound in chains heavenly sent
Longing for this mother’s milk
Deepening below fury-incarnate
Wooden these lucid psalms
Pressed in his loins
Bursting he grasped the blade
Victims drip into cobwebbed corners
Awaited by their sullen ruiner
Gospel truth in hell’s handbag
Muttered drunken biblical jargon
In a murderous clangor
As light pierces virgin morning worms
Resting calculating wrists into submission
To sweet utter demise
Into deathly-bedded repose
Taken away with thoughts
A firestorm he said is the solution
Swallowing all the swine into muds they built
But who gave you god’s iron rod?
Uplifting hedged miniscule greened cells
That so calmly laced in position
To be a defeater and draw silent lines
In the sands of forever
When I crash the ghastly mirror of daylight
Circulating sound waves
You, monk, bleed our blood
As we have truths yet to be sung
