It is not faith
that casts the spell,
nor sacred texts
that toll the bell,
but we.
We twist the holy thread
into a leash.
We carve our gods
out of the ache we fear to name.
We whisper hunger into commandments,
wrap our shame in psalms,
and call it worship.
We do not follow the light,
we brand it.
We do not kneel,
we impersonate humility
while erecting mirrors
that reflect only ourselves.
What was once sky-wide,
open,
ablaze,
we shrink to fit
the walls of our conviction.
Not creed
but craving
keeps the fire fed.
Not sin
but self
makes heaven ache.
And what could have lit
the trembling world with awe
now
blinds the heart.
Now
feeds the lie.
Now
names the smoke
divine.
