howls from St. Peter's den

howls from St. Peter's den  
   
why am I at peace with the overtures of the dead    
grey and blackened shields entomb the fallen from predators like this charcoaled wolf    
for I've long given up my chances for redemption    
I simply prowl as a carrion feeder weaving amongst the markers    
A vessel for those seeking salvation    
   
I am not stirred by the reconstruction of souls I never knew    
I need only hide behind the monotheistic bait for those foolish enough to believe in divinity    
   
Crepuscular bandits bobbing  in my wake borough for morsels of the soulless    
Blood was spilled in every story told    
and it's all I need to whet and sate my purpose    
   
Shroud your loved ones with tears and shrieks of sorrow you hypocrites    
Their passing makes room for you    
   
Heard by few are your hollow bellows of grief    
that echo within the catacombs by which I slumber this night    
And the within the shell that you perpetuate    
   
I'm panting now    
My pulsating tongue and syncopated breath    
deciphers your camouflage  
Capitulation serves you best    
for I will be fed in the stone garden of St Peter's    
   
His gates were not designed to keep me in    
   
They are merely a testament that you can't stay out    
   
Postscript: written after spending a night at one of my havens; St. Peter's church and cemetery.  I slept nestled among the tombstones.  
   
Presented in the - A Night in A Graveyard  challenge hosted by Madame Lavender