A Prayer
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A portrait of a soul kneels before youProne amidst the filth of anarchyThe scars of humanityTo you, O Divine."The pens have been lifted,the pages have dried."And your children are left, still,In blind asphyxia we dwell, we seekYou beckon so tenderly, subliminal salvationBut their hearts fathom no deeper, eyes that see no furtherAnd evermore, they drownO Divine, the anguish beneathIt crawls to the weary limbs of the universe,the expanse of an existence so coldAnd a crud colder still, the tale of