Man of Monsters, Man of Faith

I am but a pilgrim of
unfiltered faiths
that all
name God
an enemy combatant-
hood over the face, our
religions paving roads through
unforgiving wastes
like broadswords
and deserts that only
end at Heaven’s
gates.

I am no priest but a peasant preaching to pyres, feet caught above the burning of mankind’s bound desire. I am fire and water and wind and earth, a wight of the night; sentry to a crumbling church. I built a pantheon from words and fear and ash, took baptism of my wrath as justification to unmask your Lord’s mercy for the prison turnkey it provides.

And when I die,
and must answer for my
pen’s dissent,
as it were,
to a triumvirate of
higher powers threatening to
bury my
chance to repent in
an unmarked grave,

I will feign courage, for the only faith I ever knew was clipped like two gangsters in a gunfight, but like their initiation rites, I was given another path to pursue, with crucifixions of its own and commandments I must adhere to. And though you and I may pray to different stars in the canopy, we’re both souls seeking amnesty,

two specks during
times of calamity that happened to
cross one another

in the spirit of
debate.

You speak one tongue of
destiny I’m trying to
translate into fate.

This page is
my religion,
transcending the divisive
forms all other
afterlives

may take.

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4 thoughts on “Man of Monsters, Man of Faith

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