ASHES serve as a reminder

For the laity in the form

Of a cross over their foreheads

Year by year by year by year—

Their virtues’ color,

Charred plumes of a vulture.

Their worldly existence,

A forest presumed to burn soonest.


Yet the sleight of hand,

Yet the twist of fate,

Yet the turning of tables—

Such year by year reminder

Gets slowly crossed out

As flocks of vultures feast

On the vestiges of their faith,

A forest that has burned, turned ashes.


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