Rejoicing tongues taste a tripled fortnight of psalms.
Parched throats anointed with vintage myrrh
commemorate a solemn departure.
Hands reflecting no piercings -
Feet devoid of spiked reverence and divinity
expire within the jackal’s private Calvary;
a dark abyss strangled with misguided beggars
blindly choosing a Dante's purgatory for themselves.
For they shun not the light dispersing absolution - selfish claws
steal this lambency to illuminate the plight of their own wickedness.
Fiery angels rarely dance atop fraudulent tombs drowning in self-worship;
they are quietly reborn between clasped palms praising a resurrection.