Priest

Have I got to you, have you seen past my surpassed monogamy…this religion you boast and I am wed? How I’m born that I may never be without and your absence of faith and a meanwhile loathing presence in your church.

Oh upstanding citizen, where pain and tragedy has brought you to my step. Your sudden beauty wrested from your shame, and I am trained to embrace you? Should I offer words of consolation while you weep in your father’s arms? Am I only a priest to forgive while only one of us is truly conscious, and my arms encircle one more son who comes to me a wraith, whose aim he has regarded as noble for his professed love…but I feel he’s cold and my hand is forced, to see his empty eyes when he has no where else to go.

So salvation becomes necessity for those already damned. And thus our modern name, The Purifiers. Our prayer sounds to them like an incantation to raise them from a despair they’ve earned. Will not forgiveness, I ask myself, excuse one sin after another? And how am I to stop it? A man of the cloth as genuine as God. Who will cure away this black…alone with my faith to guide me to what end, if not to find a semblance of heaven on earth?

And so is faith blind…