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Behold the dreadful Horns of Red
The Beasts who trample o’er the dead
Who roar and gore and raise their heads
In challenge to the One who bled –

The One who willfully was pierced
Whose will is strong, whose love is fierce
Who crushes Altars men revere
That they may see through their veneer

Keith Strand Feb 26
Colloquially bent
With a positive alignment

Breath without falter
That’s what I put at the altar

Visions of what I wish I could be
But that isn’t me

I’m sorry
And for what I may never know
This was the first poem I ever wrote. It stuck in my head for hours until I wrote it down.
That was four years ago.

I am still able to recite it from memory.


nja Aug 2019
She worships you. Your sinful indulgence and all.
She laps up your grey blood
and nourishes her flab on your staleness.
On her weaknesses and confessions you elevate yourself.
The altar cracks.
She darts to heel your splinter but her limbs are broken under the collapse.
Upset at her lack of agency and engrossed in prayer she drowns herself in her own tears unknowingly.
In the end your ***** amassed.
An unexpected end to a story of fatherly shepherding.
See not every story has a Noah and his Arc,
most end with the egotistical on the altar, and the saints martyred in the gutter.
Sacrifice is still bloodshed.
Criticisms of the Church.
annh May 2019
Sleep stands at the altar of today’s sacrifice,
Knife poised to plunge at the heart of the matter,
Knife poised to plunge at the heart of the matter,
Knife poised...
‘I’ve always envied people who sleep easily. Their brains must be cleaner, the floorboards of the floorboards of the skull well swept, all the little monsters closed up in a steamer trunk at the foot of the bed.’
- David Benioff, City of Thieves
Myrrdin Jan 2019
All my life I have kneeled down at your altar
Sacrificing my innocence and self worth
A lamb who's blood would gain me favor
"the Father, from whom are all things and for whom we exist"
Yes, I worshipped you like a God I was afraid of
Old Testament wrath brewed in our home
And I readied myself to **** what I loved
As Abraham would, as sheep do for their shepherds
For I knew my creator loved me, and called me love
"For he disciplines those he loves, and he punishes each one he accepts as his child. "
By the stripes inflicted upon me I would be freed
Of this shame and unworthiness you bestowed

But it turns out "Father" does not mean "God"
Sometimes it just means "alcoholic"
Sometimes discipline just means abuse
My faith is now placed in me, and the God that made us both.
Crystal Freda Nov 2018
She laid her head on the altar
wrapped around her arms.
Her heart was covered in
pressing pains and thorns.

She cried and cried for hours
until the altar's wood was clean.
Her arms sweaty
with tears in between.

Her tears seeped into her soul
as He touched her heart.
She felt better
and she knew that was a start.
Brynn S Nov 2018
I tremble before you
At your alter
For lives unreached; all shall falter
Craving touch
Falling into clutch
Sweet lease
Shown to be brief
awknight Jul 2018
the strength in you
is voraciously eaten
by the soul of me.
your hands introduce
the touch of messiahs  
to my frail , battered skin.
the tips of your cosmos
trace my spine
where your lips soon follow.

I am an altar.
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