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The towering temples of the western sky

The time of weeks are up, with him.

She is high

Will it be life, will it be death

Is there a god to go to

Is there a life to give.

If we are quick. No.

There is a speed, yet not a hurry.

In the years of a thousand deaths

The great pagan right

No ceremony or truth.

And christians not to know

No not till they awaken

On this pagan hour.

She joins the Q

And the sun shines out oer the temples

As she marches forth

Up a thousand steps.

Her breasts are dry

Her sex flown out

As unsensed she worships god.

I, the loving act was committed!

The high priest lays her back.

Her legs apart

She sweats in the heat of today

Her muscles hard with fear

The fear in rejoicing her relief.

A priest now prays

And the antonym goes on.

The clean white of virgin

The white of the ward

The shine of silver and light.

They stand oer her

With the sacrificial knife

Ready in light

To strike the person

From the bosom of life

The thought of death

The knife comes down

The worry of health

The knife goes to crown.

Her virgin bleeds

For the first time

Her eyes are closed

Her Body white.

And she lives to make

Another mistake.





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