My Priest

He sits within
In Pontifical silence
Watching and waiting
His unctuous words of blessings ring
Hollow benedictions in softly spoken melodies
His blessings are for good boys
Of the practiced plastic variety
Yet under holy oil
Rage in turmoil roils
A rage unholy and profane
A fury that rises to gates of heaven
And changes it to hell
He sits in suffering silence
Till man neuters his rage
And neuters himself as well
God forbid that man should rise in potency
And phallic sword unsheathed
Should rise in loud protest
And garb himself in reality

Than synthetic spirituality

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