Tema: Blast phemy

It's not the emptiness this nave conveys today;
it's not how cold the red cedar seems to feel
when I lie down.
I know I can't complain before a piece of plaster
nor before the sun who makes a wound
through the stained-glass window.

So I look upwards in pursuit of your breeze;
and all I see is a mirror depicting the pelican
that feeds the creature to the bleeding
of her own chest.

Charity.
A virtue I happen not to deserve...

Where are you now?
Is the question I send somewhere
all along the nerves,
and in the keystone of the vault I find you;
but your wings don't bless me anymore.

Then I pray my first five miracles
and go to the second ones:
Pleasant; Painful...
Shall I get the Glory after that?

For a hundred of beads are not enough to win
the drop of sweat refreshing me
in my own private hell;
and the room left behind you
withered the three white petals
giving a green palm to my hands instead.

In the absence of your voice
I take the Grail and shed my pearls,
whilst the anger goes higher
my tear-proof crystals break out:

-Who needs you?!
(anyway)

And His irony becomes a whisper
-almost a sigh-
by turning into echoes that respond
the same words we once recorded
on the wood of this damn crappy altarpiece:

...I do.