The Dawn of Contempt

Her divine womb births a grieving soul,
Baptized in blood and pride and hatred,
Through the hymeneal gates of Her bloodshed bowels,
The germ of God and sin interbred,
Worth of grace, scorned instead,
As He undressed His divine cowl.

His countenance shone in the morning splendour,
Dawn choruses howling laments for this devout,
As ignorance, their bliss, Him twisted rendered,
His gloomy avatar, wrathful and proud,
Roaring thunders above engendered.

Coiling tongues of haunting lust,
Of wanton dreams and wicked screams,
And glorifying sculptures of disgust,
A thousand filthy minds to redeem.

His sanguine grin down gloomy sewn,
Chaste visions turned to nightmares,
And a haunting horde around Her throne,
Eyes sewn shut and malicious glares,
And taunting words that Her lies intone.

Sycophantic lungs Her prayers sung,
Beneath the falling stars,
At the rusty gallows the sinners hung,
Covered with yearning scars.

Their raven claws pierced His heart,
He knew He was hellbound,
His righteous thoughts, now torn apart,
Like wolves, malevolence gathered around,
Contempt, a blood-drawn art.