Lord, many sent much to your feast.
Angels sent their shepherds, burlap-boned,
Reciting Glorias to soothe their sheep
That hemorrhage for sins would soon be stippled dry.
But Herod sent his wizards, masked as friends
To woo a baby king. Then razors. To filet sweet limbs.
(The ego of a king is like a lion claw.)
You! You sent your ghouls into the queen’s boudoir
To howl her dreams, as to her man
She forged a ransom note from god.
You! You hold monopoly on vengeance
And I think that’s right. So let him die
Sensate. So let him die sensate.
O night of miracle atrocities!
O Lord do stalk your crowns with wonders
And with justice all at once.
So heavy should enchanted lands weigh bloody hands.
TimothyOne 