---

Faith scarcely fathoms its own moribundity

lest it envisions its own demise

and traces a carcass through time - bloating with every decade.

The stripping of this last vesture commands little force.

For all the high works held by mortal man

in dirty hands of clergy, betrothed to the obsolete,

sunken planks of their morality ship.

The pages, left unattended, soaking.

Laughing at their abandon.

Our vivisection informs thusly; that the caprices of

mass movement and the pointed politics of newer, greater sins,

constantly berate and bludgeon this archaic corpse.

Yet, they raise a caricature of their own historic-barbarity

while mere treading of rising water in the ocean of modernity.

To what end?

A folly unlike any before.

Old one, faith, keep up - if you even dare.

But moribund rest,

for something of such sallow worth,

paints one the wiser.