Upon an altar-bed,
consumed in flame,
The sacrificial object of desire
Lay writhing in a sweat, subdued and lame.
Burning, fierce, and
vicious priestly power,
Shedding holy blood to feed hellfire–
Fueling flames of passion with a flower.
So the innocent dream,
interrupted by pain and a kiss,
Was so easily woken from. 'Pain!' cryeth Pride with a tear,
'And to Hell with your providence!– Hell! If it be, it's remiss.'
God, ravaged also by
lust, felt the sting of that anapest:
If it be! Who approved this? Is it possible? Everywhere
He which allows good or evil unchecked is called damnédest.
God– Does– Not– Watch– Idly.