Mea Culpa
Who would praise a god of pestilence and death
make of the “grand inquisitor” their guest
while pounding “Mea culpa” on their breast
a fool’s concocted heaven as their quest.
While we add life to melancholy’s need
To scatter its unpollinated seed
Fearful of too long unquestioned creeds
That prey upon the weak to fill their needs.
For is it not the price the privileged pay
To serve a greater master every day
To chant in droning tone of donkey bray
Exalt the sun when skies are dark and gray.
Thus, do they stand in line still begging bread
Convinced all will be well when they are dead.
John G. Lawless
©12/7/2022
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