The fire tastes sweet
To those who hunger
Simply for what they can't have:
It burns hotter when mixed
With the bitterest gall
of emptiness.

I cry in sympathy for the ones
Who dare to tempt the tide --
Knowing that only darkness
awaits them.
I long to be there beside them,
Even though I know I can't,
Because there's not enough time.

Could someone in direst need
Open the door
from the other side
And usher these poor souls in?
The comfort I offer is meager
at best
But I hope it fills the holes.

Hold out your hand trustingly
In the blackness ahead
And know that the dark shapes
Retain no power over the light --
Until the lamb comes home
at the appointed hour.

When impish devils laugh . . .
Masquerading as angels . . .
Fooling some with trickery --
And blinding others with greed.

They come enmasse . . .
Before the church can slam
its doors
One final time against
the unwary parishioners
Who strive to come in. . . .

But the Archdiocese remain
unmoved,
Even though these are
the very ones
The church was built for . . .
The people they were meant
to save!

Hordes of hollow demons
Circle the doomed sinners . . .
...