By Matthew A O’Shea

Arms spread eagle
screeching parables
preaching, avian, predatory.
Pontiffs upon pulpits
direct the huddled mass.
All plans, all plots, all schemes.
Fire, brimstone, no between,
“Welcome to His lair”

Warriors kneel
awaiting blessings
silent, bloodshot, solemn.
Divine sovereigns
salute thirsty deities
with bone, with sinew, with regime.
Death or glory, no between,
“Give the ferryman his fare”. 

Desperate men
begging gently
broken, pathetic, guilty.
A thousand voices
glide into the void.
All fears, all hopes, all dreams.
Wishing, pleading, sacred screams.
All of them in prayer.

Matthew A O’Shea is currently having his existential crisis in Scotland. He studies Philosophy and Theology at Glasgow University, which he believes isn’t helping. You can find him on Twitter and Instagram.

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