Heretic
Heretic
your breath reeks
of brimstones ash
quenched with the blood
of martyred dreams.
I heard
hopes dying scream
as it burned alive
consumed by the flames
of your firey speech.
And now
you turn to me
lost Shepard
bemoaning the world's inability
to see your virtues.
I say
return false prophet
unto your true master
spare me
your tainted sermons.
Copyright © Running Wolves | Year Posted 2017
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