The Potrait

23 x 33 in59 x 84 cm | Charcoal and graphite on paper | 2019


Poetry


I sat here on my bended knees in this dark cave of sober reflection
searching for God's face within these walls stained with iniquities of men in holy robes
but all I see is the proximity of Hell & Heaven from the broken lens of emerging end times.

I see fraught silence sitting next to me
in this room cobwebbed with God's controlled anger
as this place stinks to hell with rottening sorrows
deep within hearts burdened with vicious scars
suffered from perverts' preying claws of the pseudo-anointed.

I see how words of the scriptures now eloquently fall off with falsehood from the tips of thorny tongues
of evil creatures of the netherworld
like sweet honey dripping out with poisoned chalice
from the piercing stings of deadly bees.

I see how the golden portrait depicting the celestial body of Christ keep falling into broken crisis
and slowly blown away in its shattering pieces
by whirlwind of desecreted predatory
sweeping the remnant of sainthood in this sanctuary into the deepest pit of ungodliness.

I see how the sacred temple of salvation, love and faith
is remodelled into an haven of rapacity, hate and sceptisms.
I see redemption built on the pillars of commerce & trade
where riches are blindly bartered for rags
as souls now can only fly on the wings of wealth
to reach the kingdom's sky of glory.

I see where demons are been casted out from our sister's skirts in secretive closets by regenerated
Moses of our time, parting their red seas with rod to free them from the enslaving wrath of lust.

I see where brothers in the lord are jostling for proceeds of crime just to warm their ways into heart of
unholy prophets of doom who they erroneously thought hold the keys to Heaven's gates.

I see the darkest spectrum of sin, seen or unseen
diffusing the potent light of holiness
since ZOMBIES OF THE CROSS, only walk & see through prisms of religious fanaticism
but not from the lens of spiritual clarity to see this tabernacle going up in flames of mockery and shame.
I see the pulpit burning with erotic fire
where dark smokes of demonic moaning are been spewed through the mouths of choristers
singing sinful praises for their gods of men

In this satanic sphere of destructive evangelism
I see no glory but gory
I see no worship but whoreship
I see only few prayer warriors on pulpit, while the rest are preyer warlords waiting in the whoreship