Chimes Wind
A poem I wrote, your heavenly words, your sinister masks?
Lay down your vile words, your hateful verse.
Your unholy scripture (of which I am its Patriarch,) to the divine distrust exposes your lesser nature.
Your unkempt reflection stains this unholy cathedral,
with its droll angels – devilish and sinister – bent to the chiming winds,
their mouths twisted into something smug.
O, wanderer! O musician of the lowly path!
A blight upon your justice; plagues deathly and pale!
Your descendants will ring out with the pleadings of Hell,
and Satan’s ill messenger shalt stalk their shadows,
hanging on their saintly words, for a sign of dross
on