Accept the "Holy Fathers" stains?
What prideful tolerance sustains
The acts by priestly "Confessors"
Whose transgressions we all deplore.
Their molestations cause such pain
That no repentance can explain
To parishes stretched far and wide -
To innocents they cast aside.
Religious aristocracy,
Duplicitous conformity,
Accepted this hypocrisy -
This predatory blasphemy.
Faux piety to hide their shame,
Disdaining good and shielding blame;
No deft Indulgence could resolve -
No Inquisition would absolve.
Despicable to humankind,
By words and deeds now left behind;
No con nor lies supplant the proof:
The mirror to self-damning truth.
These crimes, these aggravated sins -
Atrocities no words can spin,
Nor can appeal 'yond earthly reign
For acquiesced eternal stains.
Four dead Jesuits,
now confirmed as child
molesters, but when alive
these monsters’ crimes,
were covered in
obfuscation.
And when they passed,
were the Last Rites recited
and are they buried
in sanctified grounds?
May their rest be as
unrestful as their
victims lives and
and the fitful sleep
of their confessors.
Loyalty is the parlance journalist undergoes
Brevity is the wit of his confessors
Giant standing on the truth is his call
Brilliant role is the course he is groomed to play
He is not permitted to jail, at any cost
Even, of his lives and property.
Engineer of his pen are people
Without them, he has no ink
Though, he is tutored to the course
But at many cost, they are is top
They are the embryo in his tummy
Without them, he cannot deliver
They are the meaning to his cheery and provocative beats.
For the truth, sounds of his lips
For the truth, shakes of his hands
And for the truth, moves of his body
Lies the embodiments he dare not play with.
I was born in Jerusalem
But I was not Jewish
My hair made of gold
I was given silver teeth
And a ticket to the mid-rush
The gamblers and confessors
Pleads of needs for grace
And as dismayed as I was in the kicked dust
My greivance bade me well
In even darker corridors
Where the good remove borders
Through hagglers and horders
Uncle Russ, never made much a fuss,
he was just kinda sorta rambunctious.
The whole whetsell bunch, when in a crunch
bent the rules without much compunction.
The cops, unamused, and very short-fused,
in Detroit they did ruff up my dad.
But that’s not so bad, when Russ they did grab
in Chicago and pounded him dead.
Now, none of this mess, you ever would guess,
had to do with those two I detailed.
But was my uncle Melf, a felon himself
so illusive, he never was jailed.
Snappy dressers, but never confessors,
dad and Russ remained so tight-lipped
Melf split so fast, the cops were aghast.
that they never knew when he skipped.
FBI with binocs, surrounded the block
at granny’s memorial service,
hoping that Melf, might show up himself
to pay some respects, although nervous.
Melf vaporized, the cops realized,
and they stopped accosting the clan.
Too late for Russ, since all of this fuss
cost him literally all that he had.