To a Church II
When,
The memory ache music fades and the emotional context is stripped away, The choir's recital is no longer libel, Singing their eyes are filled with the equity of selfish tears, For glory's pathetic streets of fortune gold their voices aspire, Beseeching the chemical faith reaction of hope's unleashed intellectual awareness prison, Authentically resilient is the currency of our beautiful insecurities, Yet the cycle of judgement's fear persists, The property of gossip's ransom apathetic captives, Who've already surrendered their hearts to solid faithless gold...
This is my worst immortal fear; That these clay made hands, craft to heal, will yield without a moral trench struggle to the curse, will I perpetuate the pathetic psalm cycle, Speaking countless belief metaphoric riddles, yet never raising a faithless finger...
My exo-genesis-skeleton ghost was raised to question the hypnosis and contest the adage of Godless inaction, how easily will I be conquered... Will I contort my smile to the eclipse of a meagre forty days of sinking ship purpose, neglecting to partner authenticity with belief, despite being eternally wounded.
To hell or counted as a forecast of heaven's narrow victims of prayer, peace is no longer love and love is no longer acceptance, acceptance is but a jest... We've forgotten the greatest illicit commandment, the only truth that heals!
No one can love another, if they do not accept them! No one can accept another, if they do not know them! No one can know someone, for who they really are, unless they desire it! This is the only truth, wherein love and peace reside, tragically dead. So proclaims this unqualified pathetic mediocre poetic algorithymn Shakespeare.
In earnest anticipation of,
