The faint wizened face,

The ritual chanting and bow

Religion is asking.

Run past the relics,

They are their tools,

And religion is hunting.

The omni-binding rope pulls,

The omni-sounding voice calls,

Religion is demanding

Tight, it grasps

And the voice is louder,

Louder than ever before

And still my deafened ears will not listen.

It drags me back,

Strapped in the pew

Forcing my eyes open and

My mouth open – “Amen!”

Fear, Tremble, shallow breath Fear

Our eternal master graces us in presence,

Book of all my sins in hand.

He holds the paper to my face,

The smell of rot.

It burns.

Flames swallow the words,

And the words scream from the fire.

Still his hand is clutched to the book,

His anointed and blessed hand.

 

The smoke fills the temple,

The faithful eyes clouded but still they follow.

Curses on my soul,

Ever-lasting damnation.

Now, I stand, strung up

Collapsed in pain

Their words cutting my skin.

Human. I bleed

A new sacrifice

Blood spilling from the altar.

But the lips still moving.

Speaking words of truth.

Death cannot silence the truest words.

Written on the 9th February 2009... posted on www.protagonize.com on the 23rd April 2009

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