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My heart is an old man

My heart is an old man who rises each day and
worships a god who will never save him:

He enters the house of this god with rags and a broom
and beneath the mad, inscrutable eyes of the priests
he wipes every surface and sweeps every floor.

He polishes the holy relics and scrubs the blood
and entrails from the altar and replenishes the
oils and incense and sharpens the sacrificial dagger.

He hauls wood from the forest and water from the well
and when every nook has been dusted and every element placed
he extinguishes the torches and seals the great doors. The finds the priests and throws himself into the dust at their feet and begs for a blessing.

The hooded priests smear him with something that
they say is blood but it is not and they whisper words
that should be blessings but they are not
and the old man is halfway home before he
smells the stench that is upon him and realizes
what they have done to him once again.

My heart is an old man who rises each day and
worships a god who will never save him.

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