Sin

She is like a ghost, a bloated corpse of dead days,
With her multitudes writing and grinding, as the
Curses of their god rain on their heads.
An orgy of ignorance, wrapped up in lies
neatly packed with their sins, tied to balloons
and sent up into the skies.

Bordered by the sea and trapped by rock,
The sky above and the ground below stay stoic,
But they insist it closes on them, like a vice,
Like an iron maiden, choking their prayers
Their ignorance hides their hands around each other’s throats.
They gurgle for mercy and bleed for salvation.

The spider of sin weaves webs around their churches,
the stained glass lined with cheese wire as they are hoisted by the throat,
to hang from the rafters of their churches, until they all croak.
She weeps as they gnash and spit at sinners.
Weeps as they ignore their reflections and hide from
the Sin writhing under their skin, as pus drip from their eyes,
blood spills from their open mouths mixed with their lies.

Their hearts are gaping wounds festering with flies.
Communing in midnight mass, drinking blood
eating their offspring, fearing the wrath and the floods.
On the streets they point
at the so called sinners, as their flesh rots and maggots crawl.
Beetles in their Bibles,
Termites fester in their pews,
Yet they still believe themselves better than the Jews…

…and the Muslims, and the Buddhists,
Their Lord laughs til he cries,
Watching them all sin, stumble, fumble and die.
They seek freedom from the sin and the blame,
But in the eyes of God, we are all the same.