Wailing Idols of Wood

Under the sun and moon, flawed men linger in the cold Who in the mist of darkness, cut and rip apart trees eons old While stepping on grass and insects for wood to be sold Deaf to the pleas the light within makes to them while men seek for gold To make for themselves gods to care as well as impugn Blind to the Father of Greatness who stands above the sun and moon Carving the wood with knives with the edges razor thin Into aggressive lions, venomous serpents, armed men of sin Maidens with iron-grey painted on their senseless skin Leaving spikes to pierce through the lights of purity trapped within And with skill, they craft horned bulls painted with bronze for flair Leaving the spirits to burn in despair, with smoke to fill the air And to sell them like slaves that customers have to pay Though these gods are the apparent wisdom and light, or so they pray Hanging them with silver chains by their necks as display Trading them as property despite calling them the gods each day Painted in blood red to make them easier to trade With tears unseen flowing to the blue sky for tranquillizing aid Bowing down to the wailing statue to be devote With the worshippers filling the room with prayerful chants with each throat Maybe praying for their deceased children’s river boat While blindly bowing, with raining tears, to their children’s wooden coat A statue sitting down with a serene face and veil With souls in that chaotic Samsara, in that cyclical flail Giving fruits of all colours that are pleasing to see For the trapped souls to smell their brethren rotting as a death-filled sea Pouring fish blood unto the wooden corpse of a tree To show loyalty to the wooden carcass with their prayerful glee Half the wood they burn for food which is perishable Half the wood they worship as a god who is imperishable Craftsmen make wooden crosses of a man crucified To honour the one Christ whom the world of winter’s darkness denied While nailing the Suffering Jesus with hands applied Further crucifying the Cross of Light within the wood that died May the light be free from the lion-headed craftsman May the light, through the sun and moon, become the one and only Perfect Man