L

His letters are stamped
With the blood of his
Men
Who slave over his holy matters.
They call him God.
However,
He is not a cruel master.
His men gratefully
Bestow their souls
Upon him,
And he weeps
At this
Sombre picture
Of his creation.

They wear his misspelled name
On their brows
And they kill each other
Over which man can say it best.
They have prophets impaled
And the masses of their misguided love
Burn the flesh off of their bones.

His divine letters are delivered unto his men
And the letters speak of
A word long forgotten.
The letters come stained with tears of mercy
And his message is a love.

But the blood continues fall in his name
And it falls upon these holy letters
Leaving them unreadable-
Blasphemous-
Drenched in mans blood
And his tears.