Cold Worships

Bow down in lonely guilt
beneath this gaping cross
Worship with a pool of blood
gathered from dead unbelievers
and staining your hands

Turn your eyes to the heavens
and heat from a dark Sun
Worship with a fire of rage
and watch the ashes of heretics
fall in a fetid rain

Pore over arcane books
with covers best unopened
Worship in dark cloisters
and hear the tears of children
fall on cold slabs

Stand on high alters
in a Church of wild curses
Worship with a keen blade
while the cries of slaves
fall to dire sacrifice

Walk in grand processions
with a chorous in your ears
Worship in high musics
wrought by young castrati
mutilated in God's name

Kneel in hard agony
a penance wrought with pain
Worship with blood whips
and recall the stain of history
as the Reaper carves your bones