You are Damned

Calcuable Man.

A sack of sacrifice

strapped to your shoulders.

A handful of silver,

a kiss on Christ’s cheek.

Romans on the road and

you taking us down with you.

 

Divine in your deception you

smirk at your Holy plan.

Secrets between the two of you

to bless us with salvation.

 

Yet I, I am left with your seed

and a mouthful of soot.

Apologies, apologies, apologies,

regret to fill our bellies.

 

No water or wine.

No bread, no fish.

No absolution from

your sacred sin.

 

I am a shadow of your House.

Dirty floor, dirty feet.

A rabid wolf at the threshold

snapping at my bones.

 

Thirty pieces of silver,

stars in my darkened sky.

Flung at the boots of soldiers

marching you to your demise.

 

Oh Precious Martyr, I your Misses.

Wherefore lies the fault in your foolishness?

Did you find eternal life at the

end of that rope in the Yew tree?