A time cultivating poverty
of the spirit,
the flesh hungers for more that is of temporary fulfillment,
filling the stomach of pleasures made from old stone.
Religions of the wind,
the dead of spirit rise to claim life
gasping from artificial breath,
spewing amens from dead bowels,
the withered hand has fallen
to unjust knees,
cultivating death to the just and life to the unjustly.