Reverse Entitlement - Poem by Satan Esquire
Nun too bright, the stars tonight
Through fingers old and crinkled fall
Upon deaf ears. The Papist cheers
amidst the weirs of winners.
Her habit broken, her words misspoken,
She genuflects whilst standing tall.
The mass resumes amongst the tombs,
A sonic boom of sinners.
The castouts frown in mudcaked gowns
and wonder at the height of it,
To be cut short at last retort.
Must we abort the caterwaul?
Naw, let it be! It pleases me
To coat my claws in puerile splume
And underthings of things turned green
When all I've seen are none for all.
He is always with you.
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