How salvation has arisen,
Above and beneath the consequence,
Where thee was born,
Before Satan’s altar.
You destroyed light-years of work
For the sake of a friendship.
For the sake of a pitiful message,
You broke ties with a God.
I am a life well-broken,
Deceived, and hand-made,
By the artisans of Heaven,
And your death means nothing.
You hail nothingness,
In each shivering limb that extends,
From your empty form.
A love and a woman; you are holy.
You had an aura,
A well-conceived aura of disuse,
And once held a message of broken verse,
Held it upon your breast, to say,
“Thus, the maker of me,
Has no longer eyes to see.”
I mean no harm by what I say,
Though, the notion to your beauty has voided
Itself, from the distance of my love.
Beneath God’s light, I cannot see upwards.
When Atheism dawned,
Through the petals of Heaven’s meadows,
There were thorns from Hell’s rifts,
And the portals spewed demons.
They cried, “Whenever will we arrive,
To see what has maddened us?”
A message, a god, and a woman,
Made fathomable by love and blood.
Where was God, in this moment?
When beauty felled like the cross?