The Son

Desperate for feedback.

A man of many vows,

Holy, if only through the gods.

Swears if he’s allowed,

Will die a saint until he rots.

 

To do good and to be good,

If only he knew the cost.

Of living only to collect his dues,

And not truly suffering any loss.

 

He preaches aloud,

The only word he’s ever known.

Of a man long dead,

Yet alive in many homes.

 

Is this what mother would have wanted?

A son proud and loud,

Of the scripture he’s been flaunting?

 

Yet it’s too late to cower,

For the damage has been done.

In this most dire of hours,

He has betrayed the Son.