Of cults and Madhattery

My church is a sepulchre on a great hill

Where the nuns are like w****s. 

Daily we pray to one another in a dark circle of icons, 

While the rag pickers outside sing strange songs evoking our sins expiation. 

The sacred wine flows generously to the mouth of my dear friend,

She that drinks it like water, 

As she coughs between blasphemous oaths and last goodbyes, 

Resplendent in debauchery while cursing our idolatry. 

Her master died under my watch some years ago,

While I was taking holy drugs in a field of clovers. 

For this she would hate me undyingly,

If she did not prefer instead to water her fields of apathy. 

I wasted the blessing of an old zen master, 

And still it troubles me in the night. 

I kept the bottle that he put it in as a keepsake, 

And on festival days I fill it with ceremonial wine. 

As I was walking to a tavern one frosty night

I overhead some unfortunate straggler weeping bitterly, 

'Why couldn't I have a life like that?'

In his hand he clutched a mangled photograph with majestic hostility.

Like this man, all of my disciples died of lechery, 

Some feasting on their own innards, 

Looking for their undying souls

In a dying world bereft of forgiveness. 

Later on that evening unhappily I ran into a man self-proclaimed 'king of beggars'.

He petitioned me for coins or whatever I might offer. 

When he received none he cursed me and my lineage

And threatened us all with talk of daggers. 

My spiritual adviser once told me 

That in a future life I could atone for my sins

And put an end to this cycle of insanity. 

I replied that in the future they may evolve

Beyond sins or even petty value judgments of 'good' and 'evil'. 

She just laughed in my face and went on with her special work, 

Her marble brow and eyes mysterious. 

After she finished with her work amorous

She told me flatly that I was now beyond hope or saving, 

Then as was her custom she lit her candles in a daze. 

With a shrug I added fresh incense and muttered an arcane prayer, 

Breathing fresh credence to our nightly disgrace. 

Reviews

[charlie]

I get the feel of this, and the length reflects how you applied yourself to the piece: you weren't just tossing out some plain-script to make a show... Are you sure this wouldn't be a better story, though ?

[Zorrin86]

Thanks. I appreciate your feedback.
This was more of a playful or whimsical piece, but yes now that you say that I'm sure it could be woven into a narrative of some kind to further flesh things out; that's something to consider.