Self-Bound Slave Poem by Joyce Rugg

They claim their halos
But deny the horns below
Adorned with bats' dark wings
Yet claiming the right of seraphim

They serve 'in His name'
But only in convenience
But even this pales,  
Next to the fatal flaw

They hide from the truth:
Their master is a construct,
Merely a theological idol,
Rust-ridden and fragile

They know not their beast;
He's merely a rodent,
empty, noble phrases
Are all that make him king

They tout His forgiveness,
But he'll make them beg,
They cower like dogs,
Bowing to their own imaginations