Whispers of Heresy
Whispers of heresy borne on the wind—
Stories of saints who have fallen or sinned,
Satan so smug in his criminal act,
Knowing the mettle we lacked.
Wantonness, barrenness, curses that grind,
Heretic voices so keenly unkind,
The heft of iniquity, sunken to earth;
Old Adam’s soul for a berth.
Creatures affected by spiralling time,
Strange is the atmosphere — strangely sublime,
Rendering loneliness, pitiful dark,
Blank is the heavenly spark.
In the abyss are the souls who once played,
High in the welkin and brightly displayed—
Dingy old portraits and covered in dust,
Now in desuetude thrust.
Whispers of heresy fly in the breeze,
Hopelessly sorry and lonely as trees,
All the creation in mourning again—
Wights in dismay on the fen…
ADL
adamdaniel 