Profane Thoughts

My conduition (my inner Feng Shui) has been defiled

The wiring of my neuron network
channels my mind
into one way no through roads

and when the moon fades with the dawn,
a heap of bones marks the end of an alleged rainbow and
the gold that got away

These are the mémoires of a former priest turned pirate

All his labours have been outsourced to foreign entities
that lack the training

They embark on renovation works like toddlers playing with Lego

Where his chapel once had stunning stained glass windows
now there are only
abstract mosaics with sharp gaps that let in the rain and vermin

The stations of the cross can no longer be identified there

In fact no coherent story is told anymore,
just the slurred babblings of a drunkard without even a pew to rest his prayers upon

Melted candles have coagulated into profane forms

The characters of hymns have been encrypted into lucifarian commercials for the faithless

Hellish chords jam at macabre mega hertz in discordant and ominous tones

The temple has broken away from the coastline and meanders through trash filled channels,
indiscriminately without a rudder

Its steeple a mast without a flag
Its sanctuary a shrine without an icon

Where once there was a founding plaque, with date of baptism,
now reads "An image of God but denying the power thereof"

It marks the epitaph of a whitewashed tomb
dragged out to sea
"tossed by the wind and the waves":

That aquatic wasteland without a rock, where all is relative
yet unanimously futile