Roz Kaveney (rozk) wrote,
Roz Kaveney

A poem about a sort of religious person


Old men that hate young women. Cut their joy
With fester knives or stitch them close with thread
Blood pus and dripping piss. In their grey head
Single green thought. All pleasures cloy

When old save this of taking lust away
Itches their aching thigh. World could be white
If noone sweated moan yearned in the night
Only get children. Cook. Kneel. Sew. Clean. Pray.
But never priest it. Grumble in their beard.
Their will is mocked elsewhere where unclothed dance
Twine kiss stroke touch unthinkable romance
Abominations if they are not feared.
Steal goddess' gifts and all that's not nailed down.
Sworn to God's service and the devil's clown.
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