Secluded Hell (a poem)

Hate drapes crippled bodies,
God recoils in lifeless soil,
we serve Him, in good times
and bad, we fear them
judgments above,
in darkened clouds

We have iron tastes
in bitter mouths;
she wants to be elegant,
princess of wastelands,
but she’s like us –
depraved, wearing blood-jewels
that reflect enemy eyes

God never sleeps;
if He did, we’d hear
rolling thunder above
when He made love –
it’s up to us to clean
this place, no
deus ex machina
ghosts in shells
in secluded hell.

(Photo by Aziz Acharki on Unsplash)

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