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But This Church Prays To Many gods
Why
In this Church
Are the most faithful of the Stained
The hearts etched in glass,
And those who're shining the brightest
Those who can naught but break, bend, and refract the light,
Who cannot even lift their voices to heaven,
But only their
Eyes?
But perhaps that is why
That, though they are composed of frigid stone,
They feast their eyes, feeling the fire of the Holy Refiner
And now burn more feverently than the
Living
Breathing,
As they wait in Anticipation
For the final of the faithful to Fall
Silent,
And the last loving pastor to be infected with Lies,
So they can cry out to God
And
Sing;
For forever their purpose and forever their worship is to call us Home
And silence themselves again.
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