re: #570 Salamantis

Pastoral Counseling

Her weeping is a tiny, tinny sound
Crawling from the fallen receiver.
Precautions have failed us. We have
A Situation to address. She
Came to me for consolation
A troubled teen unable to
Handle her desires: nor I mine.
Her flesh was firm and ripe
And mine weak.
I have betrayed faith, flock, family
And the trust they and this girlchild
Placed in me. Unable to
Bear this revelation spreading further
I choose my sole recourse, to betray anew
And to embrace iniquity and
Lie with abomination.
I lift the receiver and speak to her
In practiced tones, both balming and commanding.
Go to the clinic, I tell her; I’ll pay for it.
And shiver as ghost nails
Rake my back like a lover’s clutches:
A dead hare crossing the grave of my convictions.

The Fundamentals

“Abortion is murder!”, the witch-burners bray
As they kneel on their hard wooden floors to pray
That all the damned heathens will see the light
And be saved from Hell’s bondage by bonfire bright
And Cain’s crosses glowing in southern night.

Our mothers and sisters and daughters and wives
Are reduced to receptacles, their whole lives
Possessed by one purpose: to nurture cells
More worthy of life, for they might be male
Like Jesus - thus wombs are warped into jails.

Poor Eve is the pattern primordial, damned
By gender, as race consigned sons of Ham
To servitude, their God-burned cross their coal
Complexion, and if one should flee their fold
Love says, “Scourge the body to save the soul.”

If knowledge of ethics is primal sin
Then ‘teaching all nations’ commits again
The error, but teach they must, for their bane
Is difference; they’re driven to all souls train
For Heaven, where all seraphs sing the same.

Good poems, are they original?