An incarnation of avarice,
I’ve stumbled through this like a good for nothing horned beast;
Unfit for sacrifice, but anointed and readied nonetheless.
Harrowed and hallowed, hardly worthy,
These sins will prevent that great diety from touching our evergrowing faith.

I’ve taken my veins in vain,
Spilled a season of strawberries onto malnourished soil,
In a land where lips and jaws lock alike,
With discarded nails finding new homes amongst innocent feet.
Praying to unlearn dead scriptures and practice,
In a place more garden than cathedral,
Where muses and musings have newer truer names.