Of cults and Madhattery

Of cults and Madhattery

A Poem by Zorrin86

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. 

© 2018 Zorrin86


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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 ?

Posted 3 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Zorrin86

3 Years Ago

Thanks. I appreciate your feedback.
This was more of a playful or whimsical piece, but yes n.. read more

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Added on July 8, 2018
Last Updated on July 8, 2018
Tags: poetry, madness

Author

Zorrin86
Zorrin86

Louisville, KY



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Avid reader...writer, musician, artist of sorts...into esoterica, spirituality, mythology, classical literature, a delver in many things. more..

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A Poem by Zorrin86