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Eyes grown old as fungi sown about the skeletal remains

ever-spellbound in cascades of tithing

disparages to mother-true

and I’ve seen how she claws at her own flesh

for this treasure-like innocence

a putrid malignancy

sanctified without cause

that cannot be undone

and so, the offering is ripe

Passing the torch before its dowsed

is our only recourse lest we stare too long in puerile eyes

The fetters of a monster hath already been shattered

pray now! its boundless appetite is our only ideology

An oppressive new faith

encroaching (of the void) on what’s left of life

the crumbs of a giant’s feast

the sullen sores (ache again)

when nubile hands make amends

I call thee…

I call thee - next to die

And the shame you feel, like seamless robes on skin

is but the welcomed leveling of sorrow