The Cherubs fell to cracked stone floor
In a billion shards of splendor.
The Willows wept in decrepit yard
Courted by stormy winds and yet still tender.

Splintered pews in ruined rank
Stand guard for the heavens.

The walls cast shadows of blinding light
And the lost souls they beckon.

Kneel and pray at altar charred
To any force you choose.
Whisper words of guilt and shame
And all that you may lose.

The idols rot and pray,
Looking unto the skies.
They sing these silent hymns
And wait until faith dies...


Now dusk has fallen over Earth, I sit 
And try to count my worldly gains again. 
So while my stocks are full and free from blight 
In twisted thoughts I can delight
To think of potions, balms, but not to cure –  
To give them pains and alms and shakes! 
This realm is mine, here to stay - forever. 
To reject requests … ‘Why, me? Not ever!’ 
I crush and mix and boil and stir, I grind 
And toss and hand-tools whirr. The clash of dish 
And cup and tool – a din to lure and bait -  
And fool. 
The ladies grin and sing my praise, they know 
I know their needs and more. But when they tire 
Of their spouse, they plead, they beg, they say ‘Do more.’ 
But when a price becomes too dear, this weight, 
This guilt becomes too hard to lug alone -  
They turn in spite and clean their hands in fear, 
They make their hatred very clear. To be a fixer, 
To be an aide, to be an old crone, or hidden maid, 
To have the whole wide world suspecting you -  
What, pray tell, are you to do?