Through trembling lips,

the bleeding of my praise

does never clot, therefore

i wring my praying hands in worry,

what your wrath might be

should just one rouge, naive devotion

chance to bother sacred ear.

Yet, i evade abstention,

honored as i was to have been

chosen for your abdication,

gifting me to homely steps at

priory of the abandoned.


Here, the guiding fathers of your

wise ascension never fail me,

teaching of my worthy penance,

exorcising wicked instinct,

just one hundred lessons daily

scribed across my flesh with talons,

and a thousand kisses nightly

from the reverent beaks of vultures,

all of this supported on

the strikingly enduring fortress,

self-delusion, scant survival.


Cope each night

and pray for morning,

come my timely, zealous kneeling

pious, blind and deaf devotion

to the hallowed consecration,

desperation for communion,

cold anticipation owns me,

opening my spirit widely,

lusting for the coming wafer

of your sacred, ancient doctrine,

sated till the next appeasement,

this, your daily offered maybe.


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