Wild Monk

What heresy; the wild monk thought,
Could return the folk to the land of God
And turn the night sky into oceans of white light.

He would happily see the fruits of summer
Decay unpicked and neglected than for their sweetness
Be wasted within impurity.

In his cave in the mountains, too high up too be seen,
He could not gauge the depths of human thought,
The faltering nature of his dream.

His body bears the scars of isolated religion,
His eyes are blinded by heaven,
His tongue is tied by rhetoric and his mind is stained
With the blood of the one that could
Not be tamed.

…….the shadows around the fire seemed to never touch the flames
And guilt just burrows deeper with just one soul to be saved……

Still, the wild monk sits alone and stares into
The passing stream,
His vices whittling at his bones.

All unity is blinded by belief.


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