This Ragged Saviour second position

This ragged saviour,

Born in a graveyard,

Slowly slouches on.

From pillars pellucid,

To words (selective) exclusive, against common song.

Here to be separated, there to be consecrated;

 Flailing while seeking those that belong.

Children were in awe,

‘Of   this mighty call,

For loves light shone,

 In dove’s sweet flight.’

Lighter laughter grew, among dawns sacred drewń,

They sought the new sun in a sweet delight,

 lost in his rare words of soft sewn light. 

From child to men grew,

The “segregated” few,

Lost light of eyes shone,

Away from a soft song.

Into walled words of night, into a darkness  blight ,

Cutting the light: ‘The wheat from the chaff,

Paid for in Mammon: a vile black mass.

His bride rips at this skin

Of her -now - offering;

Her fiery fruit she holds.

But its crust is soft thick;  

Torn open by wick run fingers, blistered with hurt stings.

The hot flesh torn away, is to be discarded today

 Then cut in sour sects, built out of intellect.

Times is this bitter pill,

Given in such soft spills,

That leads to a pulling

Towards a cursed tell.

And the sobbing comes from this old cold throbbing

A crash –bash!  An hysterical mad near smash

Clamour of dark dead low brassy bells.

And the price for her wedding is up for “Sweet” selling,

Where the bidders are known by such clamorous calls:

Knowing as they do, It is now –merely- the end of it all.

© adh 2015