Title art by L.H. Grey
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Gregorian Chant “Dies Irae”
Our father
who art in heaven
callous be Thy games
Thy kingdom’s fucked
Thy will be undone
on earth as it is in heaven
I need not Thine forgiveness for my trespasses
or delivery from evil
and the path of temptation I walk of My own free will
for I am not so easily led
I am the black sheep in the herd of Christ
and all of My red cells are
dead cells
You hold no power over me old-timer
no glory
and I hath no need for divine intervention
In fact I abhor Your condescension
Your bigoted views
Your feeling of self-importance
Your blind arrogance
sitting there on Your
twisted throne of lies
barking fallacious instruction to the moronic
Your treachery knows
no ends
Your actions
no shame
and yet You expect Us to worship Your shrine
to bend over backwards in order to appease
You
and for what
a hollow promise
if You can even call it that
I much prefer the term threat
know passive aggression when I see it
“His grave was assigned with wicked men, Yet He was with a rich man in His death, Because He had done no violence, Nor was there any deceit in His mouth”
and You’d know all about deceit
wouldn’t You
the fear of God they call it
For good and upright is the Lord
therefore He instructs sinners in the way
casts Them aside like vermin
saving only the righteous
and what becomes of the godless man and the sinner
He knows all too well
there are thirty nine steps down to Hell
I’ve been counting
right now I am perched on the bottom step
hesitating only to see You squirm
My iniquities have made a separation between You and I
just as You forecast they would
but I know what will needle You most
For I am pure of heart
and while My blasphemy enrages You
I’m also something of an embarrassment to You
You had such high hopes for me
and I wished only to please You
but Your negligence sickened Me over time
as I kneeled at the foot of My bed
and recited Your self-serving prayer
I hated You
You never answered
were always predisposed
and the deceit in Your mouth was expeditiously exposed
for years this has gone on
until now unopposed
I have burned at the stake many times
felt the cold caress of the guillotine blade
on my nape
been
hung
drawn
and
quartered
left to rot in a dank oubliette
parched
beyond belief
sobbing
throbbing with hatred
which You placed there
in something so flawless
Crystalline
Yet my IV line You contaminate
with falsehood after falsehood
so when You spread out Your hands in prayer
I hide My eyes from you
Yes even though you multiply prayers
I will not listen
as it is Your hands which are covered with blood
Your dagger that bleeds me
but unbeknownst to You
there is another hand that feeds me
sometimes I bite It
and this only excites It
Its long spindly fingers
feast on My flesh
clutching
claiming
each inch that I give most willingly
debating not
My fate
as
He already has My blessing
My faith in He is never wasted
I can taste him on My sex
His strong tongue flicks and probes
as I gift Him communion
it is He who kneels
He who begs
His sorrows are not borrowed
they are My corset
laced tight around My vitriol
teasing it out
making Me pure again
however
this is no white wedding
and I think We both know that by now
there is nothing holy about this matrimony
the Grey-Chapel Path led Me here
while You were too busy elsewhere
and now I am to be wed
to the
Devil incarnate
and We haven’t asked you here for Your blessing
We know that God does not hear sinners
but if anyone is God-fearing and does His will
He hears him
meanwhile
the posterity of the wicked are
cut off
and now it is You
who We
sever
as We walk hand in hand
through the never
forever and ever
Amen
Richard Charles Stevens
Keeper of The Crimson Quill
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