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Monday, 2 August 2010


No death bed convert shall I make,
The heretic soul in me would only baulk at the prospect
These eyes have swallowed too much truth and the twinkling of faith has long expired.

No, I shall shirk no shame of my last ill-spent moments
Nor shall I deplore my trespasses,
For my neighbours are as Godless as I.
I shall quell all thoughts foreboding to wander to a place “hereafter”,
Pray, what could it offer?

This life’s a false promise-
A world where rich feasts on poor,
woman treads in the shadow of man,
And love shrivels in the hands of fate.

No, I shall abandon him before he abandons me
I know I am expendable, but He?

I shall butcher my heart and serve it up on the altar-
A mere returning of the favour,
For all the last breaths snatched by his avaricious grasp.
I’ll beg him for his worst, for one of Gabriel’s own to smite me down with a blow that could bring the castles of heaven crashing...

This is my exodus from a world in tatters;
Evil shall no more pluck the ripest fruits of Good’s labour,
As the lamb heart coils up with the dragons.

© Florence Challender 2010