A lone beacon sounds against sin.
They revolted while in church,
as shame slathered on their swallowed gasp.
The lost congregated behind concrete gates
as the landscape scraped the slumbering
from remembering the antecedent
of deafening decadence, lies the lied.
An unplugged mind unwinds in solace.
Shuddering against sitting shoulders,
the stalls and slip of sorrow swing softly
like a noose in wait of the wind.
They yelled the name of the Lord
with the helping yelp of a flabbergasted
God as he rested and wore precedent.
Had extinction run concurrent to forgoe
the words of Holy verse, superseding sounds?
The converts converse in allegories by thought.
They sit upon books, with commiseration in
wholesome dignity, rendering underneath
beauty, hid hidden in suffering. Revelations
bequeath them to sing song in psalms
of nonexistent churches, as pews of dew
reached them, early morning, with sunrays
emulating written works of the Creator.
|Image courtesy of The Atlantic|
|Image courtesy of JDC Teahouse @|