Behind the vacant congregation,

the blank faces turned towards redemption

have only then clasped their hands and lifted their eyes.

The cries of the poor wounded souls cast below our feet have tricked us into comfort

as we vow to cleanse our own;

perched atop their broken bones,

we are the fools we choose to believe in.

No longer shall we worship on the altars

we have built to praise our own ambition,

we have been blinded to our humanity.

Search once again for reassurance

at the hands of your greed,

upon the pillars of your pride,

Tasting bitter lust on your tongue from the blood of those who knew,

The metronome inside our chests cannot withstand truth.

For our sons and daughters will find solace in the teachings we have rewritten

while we, their elders, search endlessly for absolution,

as we have forgotten that we were never able

to grant it ourselves.