The altar rests in ruin—
no longer refined in worship.

Knees painted blue,  
sweat reeks of sin,
calloused hands reign regret,
prayers sang in vain.

Guilt masked as pride,
envy veiled as praise,
lust whispered as love,
as purity slips in sage.

But the altar remains forgiving—
of all those who are misled,
for they weep at the stone steps,
of a temple once embedded.

The altar rests in ruin—
no longer refined in worship,
still exuding grace—
accepting all those,
lost, and seeking blind faith.