My Temple, My Past

I was reminded of something upsetting recently, something which I must have set upon myself. And that part that still remains within my soul burned ever more strongly: my hate, my love and my loss.

Will I consecrate the dust in that temple of my body?
Those bits of past mementos I have abandoned.
Indeed, concentration pulls me back – backwards
To the beginning of my entire hate, which made
The altar in itself fall. My angel dropped her crown
A dozen many times. With tears, she urged to descend.
As for that lord I worship in the building’s blacker corners,
He should be a man rewarded, he should be blessed,
If he were only not the little things I attempt to pluck
Away from the floor – wherein lingers my flaw:
Making holy the echoes around the truth,
The afterthought of the words said, or those false
Memories that creep out of my filth.
Still sin tumbles and still I scrabble for it amongst
The language of ignorance; bent double knee,
I sign for my desires, asserting them in chorus,
I prostrate and beg for the forgiveness of a master
Who left this temple’s touch long before he entered.
In absolute silence, the time to wait settles,
That deceit that was always designed to come
From my tongue alone: that peppered denial.

The End

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