Cupid’s painted dream

There’s beggary in the love that can be reckoned

Photo by Eugene Kucheruk on Unsplash

despise with eyes wide open ignore those alive in sackcloth and ashes weaponised clones of a myopic dwarf follow us into our dreams.

As they were taught so to do: they denied themselves water. They inherited nothing: no morning maniac music shakes them awake; those who’d once brought hope now mired in hate.

on the mountain, clouds scud over blood on the floor over mud on the faces of refugees who wait for sanctuary Christendom has fallen collapsed from within, deep, deep in the mire of sin.

Oh! I’m glad I never fell in love with you Jesus. I try and try again to speak but cannot begin to say let us pray, with ashes in our mouths and iron in the soul for forgiveness

For this is a dangerous day: a cold-hearted bully with arms in his hand has his way he loves to control, this man with no soul.

He’d died long ago, in a land made of snow, was soon born again, in this world without end lived in that cave right next to the grave of his brother, his wife, his lover, I mean he was just someone so obscene thought money was funny and power was forever his nature was such, so-cold to the touch, he lived without friends, in his world without end.

[embed]