Cotton candy wrapped silence

sliced into pieces,

hung by the window,

blocking the sun.

A supernova explodes

into a black hole.

(Endings taste like sugar)

I’ll send a message–

perhaps nail it

upon your door.

For once this tale

is known,

search for recourse.

A starless night’s presage

silenced the shepherd Amos.

For in his visions

all who gathered at the temples

bow to unknown sires.

Blessed be they who spark

the fires of discourse.

In the fading twilight sky,

a notion clings

to its dying breath.

For modern indulgences

to a time bygone

plague a once true devotion.

No wandering stranger

to befriend–

a world left cold,

and to the mend.

A rage transforms the shepherd’s tears.

Cursed be they who bear 

the power role.

The centuries will cry:

“Woe to you,

you hypocrites!

Preaching 

as if some martyr,

as if you hold a crown of thorns.

The hatred you spew poisons your mind

and damns your soul!”