The Grand Bastion

I am the jagged pieces of leather jutting out from your coat tails,
the dream that stood unstuttering, unwavering in the corridors of your holy slumber.

I am the god that praised his own followers before himself,
the god that then let loose the hounds of hell upon all those that worshiped his ground.

I am the dream left deferred, decayed in the caustic mire of politics,
letting the civil strife of skeletons and children go awry under a weight of pure gold.

I am the life that was carelessly snuffed out by yours,
the place you found most deserving of your holiness witness my burial in her soft and luscious underbelly.

I am the night that bore witness to the seeds of life sown upon her body, upon her silken dress,
only to have it lavishly torn off under the silver steel blade of a man dressed in mightier than god white.

I am all the times you neglected your friends and fellow passengers on this strange journey,
and all the times you false-repented before this half witted being you called a holy emissary.

I am the churning hate that bleeds dark ooze to fuel the war machine that seeks to cut from under so,
scathe may the man from the blade once, but war knows no place and war knows no end.

I am the mother you passed along the side of route 32, left alone with a bare child clutched to her chest,
the one you drove by and scuttled your mud- drenched tires upon, leaving the child crying and without hope.

It was you who called out for me,
when all that came had gone,
but now it is you who waves the banner,
and drives the demons on.
And as I try to squirm towards light
the halls start creeping in,
for who am I to cast him doubt
as I revel in my own found sin.