I said with joyful, hopeful heart.
They sneered at me with malice,
And prayed to coarse medieval art.
?This could liberate the anguished,?
I told the huddled, deafened mass.
In their bloody shrine they languished,
And praised the faded, cracked stained glass.
It was Fear and Pain they admired,
Agony was their golden calf.
Grace by intellect inspired,
Forsook them red-faced in their chaff.
Of their followers I wondered,
Which ones would survive the ordeal.
How many lives would be plundered
Acting out a corrupt ideal?
Comment