Broken Temple #Poetry

 

I can see the people kneeling,

Learned prayers they are uttering

I can hear the hymns, the sacred songs

The shattered faith, the faith so wrong.

 

They kneel and close their very eyes

But cannot feel the warmth from highs,

Instead they see the darkest depth,

They choose to live the life of death.

 

They cannot see the elated hearts

But they can see the darkened marts

They cannot feel the prize of love

They choose to find the price of love.

 

I wander how they can breathe

In the air with a smile so blithe

Although it’s filled with lies,

Anger, envy, greed, havoc and cries.

 

I can see their blatant eyes

With a sight that vaguely flies

While the music of their psalm

Can’t hear the soul of the Father’s lamb.

 

The sound of their golden trumpets

Flies into the high firmaments

But the harmony turns into frets

The harmony turns into fragments.

 

They sing the praise of holiness

But their fight is an impious mess

The heads kiss the floor of faith

But their minds are darkness’ mate.

 

They listen to the words of enlightenment

But they verbally harm the other men

The guns… the bullets roam in the air

The infectious blood for them is fair.

 

They lost their lives, their hallowed lives

They release their hearts and hold their knives

They enter the abode of sacred light

But their hearts still reflect the shady night.

 

They broke their faith in their own temple

And forgot the sound of the righteous treble

They are strangers in their own realm

And I’m sorry, ‘cause I’m one of them.

 

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