A Cross for Heretics

How many of God’s works were made? – Too many, I’d say.

In each of us, suffering keeps the heart at bay.

Every heart is tortured, full of dread, and lacks divinity,

What’s left of mankind is mere bait for infinity.

But what is this golden rod for?

What serpent from the waters is it meant to lure?

No matter the mineral, no sin will it lift,

They’re too heavy, too light, too deeply adrift.

Rooted in pleasure, in desires so beastly,

Labeled as human joy, seen as deathly.

For what good is joy, if not for man,

Tossed by Dionysus, caught in his hand?

It’s hard not to worry, hard not to fret,

I watch the world, and wish I’d never left the dead.

Since man no longer cares for foolish deeds,

Since people let themselves be kicked on the paths they need,

Since free will has ceased, we no longer carve trails,

Choosing paths made by fools who prevail.

Where do we stand?

In a world that’s displayed, or in a box where dolls decay?

What’s in there?

Is it hope that’s been stowed?

Or has it hidden, refusing to be shown?

It’s useless to wonder,

Hope died long ago, torn asunder.

Are people still like what man was meant to be,

Or has man strayed too far from humanity?

It’s useless to ask!

Even the blind can see, they’re no longer akin, they’re not truly free.

In one cage, we’ve been enslaved together,

So we shared our scars to be closer, however.

The best ones bore only the smallest marks,

But the rest? Who cares for their life in the dark?

Why do they stain, if their blood is so pure?

Why do they leave traces, yet in silence endure?

I don’t know this creature, but it’s no kin of mine,

Not human – no echo of the heart’s beat in its spine.

Not animal – too much humanity it lacks,

What kind of monster is this that attacks?

But now it doesn’t matter, it’s all just a blur,

I died in my own bloodstain, and in it, I saw myself stir…