In a Lonely Garden

In a lonely garden there' s a shrine where upon a rough hewn stone is writ: “GOD IS LOVE.” The devoted supplicants make wail, water the flowers, feed with crumbs the sacramental dove. A priest, decrepit, feeds the holy fire, rakes the embers of the holy hearth. Heaven is grey above. Daily he laments in doleful orison, unbinds the holy scroll and reads: “Thou shalt not kill.” His sentence is short and simple, without exceptions and parentheses, declaring God’s will. though many about have forsaken Love’s fane, have fallen prostrate before a god of ill. And this god has three faces, one wreathed in pleasure’s smiles, when the cup is full., a brazen face of terror wrought in hatred’ fire, And a skull.