A God that is Yours
Slender beams of accusation enterthis darkened room as I kneel,
always a slave, always alone,
frozen here,
waiting.
Tortured forms wrought in panes of glass loom as
dust dances in the air,
forming an image in my mind,
searing my naked flesh.
A reflection on a deathless face.
I raise my head, now defying
this oblivious Heaven.
-Beautiful Pollution
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