on marble cathedral steps with their hollowed bibles,
a leather bound armor bathed in adoration by the outlines
of a translucent body: moving but not feeling for those words
written with gold and gunpowder, letters
curling like chanting lips of civilization
and its end by whip lashed pride and men
trembling like beaten children confessing their sins.
Choice given to them twisted and reformed into an Evangelistic sermon
before dripping through their guttered minds reaching the devil's basilisk -
lurking with a murderous glare cradled in sulphur.
Let him stand against the divine cross.
--
Spoiler
This, by no means, represents my religious ideologies. It's just a (bad) poem.
