Crux of Belief

Birth place of civilization,
where dust feeds
famished souls the venom of belief.

Mothers cry at birth
already awaiting death
for their newly born sons.
Infants gasp,
their first bursts of air
filled with
religion and hate.
Nursing,
growing,
living
on the theology of pain.

Soldiers footsteps echo,
an ominous lullaby
for the ears of children.
They look at the world with
eyes a million years old,
watching the
Blood baptize
parched earth.
Seeing that Man has been cast out.

I would choose to endure not
this hateful ground.
Crucify me,
for I would gladly die
a thousand deaths
if I could wash the stains on man's soul away.

There are no Angels
that watch over,
phantoms are all that will remain
to bear witness to this
plauge.
Sheding ghostly tears
on the wind blown sands
where man began.

Where are our gods now?

Legions have returned,
festering
feeding
growing
consuming all.

Forgive us,
for we know not what we do
in the name of all that is holy.