I have but a smatter of the angelic tongue;
The language of angels, archaic and foreign as the morning sun
It's to you I posit the following query:
Should I for one be ecstatic or pragmatic,
When the voice of God speaks to me only in static
I choose to believe but this troublesome quarry is all too problematic
My philosophy and logic quarrelsome emphatic
Psychosomatic and impractical

Maybe it's the infrequency with which I tune my internal radio;
And maybe I'm not listening
Or maybe it's really true what Nietzsche touted so many moons ago

I beg for sacrament
But partake in sacrilege
If its true that Soul is eternal
Or even existential
What is the sake that merits mine salvation
If I can't save even those I hold near and dear from being of Self mind
Fallacy of ego.
Global enslavement.