The wreaths of requiem ,
rest like the flocks of pigeons
in the delapidated buildings
where we house the words of
a frustratedly forgotten God
Our thoughts are marbled
Sculptured by surely ways
that leave their mark upon
the soft white limestone
we once held for granite
So we take "noes" for hostage
"Yes" in all it's uncertainty
and doubts and fears
we leave to professionals
Mass en Mass . . .
the silence shouts for redemption
as Altar boys stare straight ahead
and mouth unholy words
they could not swallow
Nay Nay !
The robes of iniquity
girdles more than the truth
of daybreaks after nights
of shadowed sin , brutal lusts
and innocent blood stained floors
It is what it is .