deepundergroundpoetry.com
GHOST IN THE VESPERS
He waits for them to return,
His flock lost to another’s arms
Of healing and godliness.
They left him here alone
With the empty vespers
And the hollow mission bells
To stew in his own hell.
Was it his stares
At the little boys and girls?
Or was it
His creepy maniacal laughter
When others would suffer?
Could they not see
That it was God’s will
To be subjected to his lash
For the past sins that last
Until their day of judgment?
Could the mothers and fathers
Not see that their sons and daughters
Were to be a gift to his grace?
Did they have to burn him at the stake?
For his soul was at sake
Left bare to God’s law
For his sneaky little cat’s paws.
Those afternoons of innocence lost
At such a heavy cost,
Have left him as a shade
Silently standing his post.
With the rats and spider webs,
He is left among the dead,
To haunt this place eternally.
His flock lost to another’s arms
Of healing and godliness.
They left him here alone
With the empty vespers
And the hollow mission bells
To stew in his own hell.
Was it his stares
At the little boys and girls?
Or was it
His creepy maniacal laughter
When others would suffer?
Could they not see
That it was God’s will
To be subjected to his lash
For the past sins that last
Until their day of judgment?
Could the mothers and fathers
Not see that their sons and daughters
Were to be a gift to his grace?
Did they have to burn him at the stake?
For his soul was at sake
Left bare to God’s law
For his sneaky little cat’s paws.
Those afternoons of innocence lost
At such a heavy cost,
Have left him as a shade
Silently standing his post.
With the rats and spider webs,
He is left among the dead,
To haunt this place eternally.
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