Mea Culpa

Who would praise a god of pestilence and death make of the “grand inquisitor” their guest while pounding “Mea culpa” on their breast a fool’s concocted heaven as their quest. While we add life to melancholy’s need To scatter its unpollinated seed Fearful of too long unquestioned creeds That prey upon the weak to fill their needs. For is it not the price the privileged pay To serve a greater master every day To chant in droning tone of donkey bray Exalt the sun when skies are dark and gray. Thus, do they stand in line still begging bread Convinced all will be well when they are dead. John G. Lawless ©12/7/2022