a fresh glow arising from atrium tiles,
no cries to flow between these columns.
awaiting my redemption,
would I be allowed in?
would I be chosen?

to be bathed in the blood of the lamb,
 I’ve slayed my share.
to be bathed in the blood of the lamb,
could I dare?

amber haired and raven eyed,
she pricked the sinewy arms of men
just for a taste of life,
gushing in a simple pulse over her lips.
tangled in their sin,
she absorbed their evil into her cells,
wanted to know the flaws
that made them human.
they lay as loved, they lay as victims.

did she read between the lines
etched upon her palm?
judgement of the final kind.
would she be chosen?
oh heathen, oh beast, oh priestess,
could you forgive your own ignorance?

balduchins arch into a heaven
never meant for me.
 I, a beggar among gods,
hiding beneath saint peter’s robe,
the face etched in stone,
a tearful virgin among the hellions.
but no innocent am I.

only the innocent enter here,
bloodied and righteous,
only the innocent
are redeemed.
 I say, save redemption for those of us who need it.

will I be chosen
or will I be turned away?
will I be the victim
of the fiend inside me?
will I remain the tearful victim
of a god I created in my own image?
will I keep sobbing
for my own redemption?
will I  keep perpetrating
my self rejection?

would I not be chosen?
or would I turn myself away?


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