holy poem, after the death of god

by on March 22, 2024 :: 1 comment

snow all afternoon but
nothing is made beautiful

no one is considered holy

at some point
the last city is built
and then there is only slow decay

sons are shot and
daughters raped and all of
the missing are given names

and some of them come home
while others are martyred
and there is always the threat of
another religion

of the crippled
leading the blind and
of a war that everyone can
believe in

a way to kill only the
truly deserving

and how much of your life are
you willing to waste
making these decisions?

– John Sweet

editors note:

No more pissant prophets leading impotent attacks. A waste indeed! – mh clay

Comments 1

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