Organ dusters gathered in the church

And some day that piece of paper

Will be yellowed and fragile

An atlas of Heaven

Burned at the edges

Cupped by a dais

The stained-glass story looks on

Colors like crayons

They talk to each other

They want to kill what is good

And praise all that is bad

A cloaked figure shakes his head

Distaste is such a waste

Candle wax burns the hand

As the wrecked world prays and chants

By

Aaron Echoes August