I saw your true colours today.
cold and vindictive, like some bitter
ironic caricature of an Old Testament God,
calling for the slaughter of all,
to feed a wounded ego, left bleeding, needing 
more sacrifices.  presentient appeals
to a sense of humour long crushed to dust
by a poisoned drink from a well,
shallow and stagnant, 
smelling of vinegar where the apples of Eden
became your backroads wine, souring in your belly
while you tasted the warm wine of children 
to feed your tragic hunger and thirst,
cursed to walk alone with your sins.
because we are forgiven as we forgive.
and hatred unlocks no doors in heaven.


copyright William F. DeVault (wfdv)