Host

Host Priest and monk eat biscuits quietly In the garden, delighted Sunlight on tombstones pray The dead don’t mind Shaded by the stone cold church In the past, whips lashed out perfect pain Rained down salvation and enemy torture Repent by fire, inspired by the style of the day Water too was utilized to clear minds for rapture Submerged souls sank from the atrocious boredom Lead them not into temptation Lost in translation of the word Baptism is not a poison or a code Once upon a time there was a host Bread of life nourishes the church Inside, behind stain glass windows, services begin Solid walls hide solitude, pure silence in icy gray Occasional wafer, dry bread, feeds congregants Placed reverently on the religious minded tongues By the purifiers, sterile, the men in long black robes