Redemption’s Worth Costs The Same As Funeral Roses

You, boy and you, girl–
Tell me: why are you praying? 
Tell me: why are you shaking
with glazed over eyes?
 
You, boy and you, girl.
Tell me: Is this your redemption?
Wearing your crosses;
being devout.
 
You know it’s not enough, don’t you?
You know claiming Christianity only makes you
a false prophet.
 
Now, look where your desperation has carried you
–to angels with tattered wings
and broken swords.
 
When on your knees,
you plea before them,
the angels cry.
 
Their sympathy speaks in sorrow-filled over-tones,
and they look away, and speak the words,
that send you to your grave:
 
“Fallen angels can’t save you.”
 
Your soul is chained to the Devil’s throne,
and us angels wear black veils to your funeral.
 
We’re sorry we couldn’t save you,
 but we’re just as enslaved,
as the rest of humanity.
 
We’re just stuck–
–forced to live out the will of a twisted God.
 
We’re sorry.
We couldn’t save you.
We’re just as enslaved as the rest
of this whithering race.
 
So as an appology,
please accept these dead roses.
 

©Marie Meyers, 2013

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