Saintly

You came to me
seeking impartial advice
A cloister
from the pretentious mass
That devoured
your sense of place.
I tried
to teach you my wisdom
My still voice
Buried anger
Crushing sorrow
To dance the masquerades
without
Need of a penitent mask.
Yet you misused
my whispers
Of hope
Nailing the body
Towards supposed absolution
through pain
Born through feigned
lashings.
Now you wear
a new appearance
No better than the last
As any obedient follower
Striving only
for sainthood
Yet granting no liberation.
Enchained you remain
Dissapointed
A grevience
Without the promise
Reformation of character
Through purgatory.
As I see
The illusion of cloth
Hiding justified
Restitution
To repay the kindness
you willfully abused.
Is such selfishness saintly?