You worship weekly at my altar,
offering your tithes with shouts of glory and painfully silent adoration.
Where do you believe forgiveness dwells?
Is it an attribute, assigned to some and
Or is it called upon only by the pious and
I am no martyr but remain steadfastly your greatest believer,
a godly observant of true and childlike faith!
I will not die for your sins, having so many of my own.
No crucifix, no submerging can wash away those stains!
And yet, you remain in the presence of the divine!
On sanctified sheets we sweat, the blessings spilling forth.
I am your promised land of milk and honey,
steadfast, true and waiting, wanting.
I pull you into that sacred place that drips its'dark perfume
like the candles on the altar.
My disciple.My devotee.
You are blessed with the gift of my innocence, taken from me twice in a moments breath.
You are neither saint nor sinner,
merely a beautifully flawed servant to this higher power.
Your desire pulls the unscathed through the flames
my adored supplicant.
Rebuke all that you wish to cast away in this theology of lust, but never faith!
Monday, August 3, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: forgiveness