Pouring the Whine

Back in the day
when happy go lucky me
still rolled in a spiritual way
I faithfully subscribed
to the pious bromide
to hate the sin
but love the sinner

Clinging to the ancient cliche
that the power of forgiveness
would lead to redemption eventually

God was I naive

I was that dupe ravaged continually
by those who steamrolled
over my praying carcass
with brazen impunity 

And thus I now live cynically

A bitter old man
existing is this Age of Suspicion

My tattered soul
bubble wrapped in skepticism

Always moving cautiously
through my mind field of trust issues

I do take a twisted degree of solace
(tinged with spasms of sadness)
that I finally get to ride
with the grievance majority side
I formerly used to deride
back in my former innocence

Now I am one of those twisted creatures
forever shaking our fists at the clouds
destined to rain down disappointment
on our unfulfilled lives

For cynicism is indeed
a self fulfilling prophecy