Polished Lead

I dragged you from the altar where you stood in simple white,
Drowning in your holy water suffocating in your spite,
You waited through the ages wearing new and borrowed blue,
But the venom dripping from your words tore at my heart anew,

I had watched you for a while before I entered your domain,
Straying like a watchful deer anticipating only pain,
You ignored my soft suggestions and you angered at my call,
But still I watched and waited for the final curtain fall,

I have borrowed words from poets past and present too,
But all their sonnets fail me when I come to speak to you,
The wall of lace surrounds you and your veil is of glass,
So I’ve tended to your graveyard been the reaper to the grass,

I never hunted fortune and kept my distance from any fame,
But I would die the happier if only once you spoke my name,
No hymn nor sermon could make sense of the things I’ve seen,
Acceptance and explanation expose a vast difference in between,

I can not help but wonder why you think this is so hard,
Chipping at the edges of the enamel of your façade,
Most of us have been here and only the strong survive,
Born and baptised within these walls proving you are alive,

I have come to the point where failure is measured by degrees,
Crying from the pulpit I watch you scattered on your knees,
Tearing at the carpet with your polished plastic nails,
Like some demented demon train sent spinning from the rails,

I set your bible on fire last night and watched the pages burn,
It’s become impossible for me to teach where you refuse to learn,
Gentle rain falls on the spire as the steeple bell gathers rust,
So for you I wish it too, ashes not ashes nor dust not dust …

     "All my words are spoken in a stolen prayer…" – Alice Cooper

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