Thursday, 20 November 2014

Sonnet 5


We know the type, the man who always knows,
the syllogist, who leaves no hint of room
for hesitance and fear before the woes
of life and loss and shadow of the tomb.
Yet others fall another darker way
and worship shadows on a lifeless throne.
The altar where their scanty tributes lay
is dedicated to a god unknown.
These collared mystics conjure careless doubt
(much wiser than the fools who keep the Laws)
before the crowds who wish the Faith to rout,
who meet its deconstruction with applause.
               A question is a means and not an end
               and Christians easier to break than mend.

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