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Unholy
My cleric’s collar starts to sting
a raw, red rash that won’t abate
when world news of horrors bring
send thoughts and prayers and meditate
There is no accident, no chance
the predetermined outcomes state
a child dies by circumstance
those desperate prayers won’t alter Fate
The prophets false in word and deed
are fed by fear and groomed by hate
corruption absolute decreed
blind the sheep and celebrate
This collar now asphyxiates
I think it’s time to separate.
Copyright ©
Lacey Jones
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