Cyrian Mills
Tell unto me, Father,
Did we follow your light?
No, my child.
You are but another fool.
Were you honorable
while your hands toppled temples?
My priests, building atop foundations of sand,
slicing their tongues, speaking my names in vain.
Biting upon bent, ill-gotten gold,
your feet bathe in thy neighbors’ afflicted blood.
Invoking me to damn those I create in unfamiliar ways,
cursing them for the crime of being unknowable to you.
Claiming to drink from my veins and eat of my body,
but I have not once seen you fit to feast at my table.
You have not followed my light,
but may it reveal your path to damnation.
Drawing only closer to eternal hellfire,
believing yourself to be basked in warm, gentle grace.
May your skin burn, your feet blister,
and your eyes become blind and pale under a dark sky.
Whilst your tongue grows heavy and numb,
begging for my undeserved forgiveness.