Blasphemy : I
The prayer beads clicked like teeth within the dark
A false devotion, missing every spark
You led me to the mat, to bow and weep
While keeping secrets that the shadows keep
"Turn back to Him," you’d urge with pious breath
While leading my poor heart toward a death
I sought the Path, a pilgrim in your wake
Unaware of every vow you meant to break
Above us stood your father, cold and tall
A titan built of spite within his hall
He viewed my labor with a jaundiced eye
And prayed for my small flickering light to die
"A pauper’s face," he’d sneer, "a common breed"
As if my poverty were some foul deed
He measured worth in silver and in silk
And poured his arrogance like soured milk
And then the Crowned Crow, the one you called a guide
The "elder" wing beneath which you would hide
He perched upon the heights of status’ tree
A silhouette of what I’d never be
I warned you that his shadow was a net
A trap of old desires and dark regret
"He is a beacon," was your sharp retort
While docking in his foul and secret port
There were no glowing screens to catch the lie
No digital trail beneath a watchful eye
But silence grew a weight I could not bear
A heavy rot within the stagnant air
I pushed the walls of truth until they cracked
Until your holy armor lay ransacked
And there, beneath the weight of my demand
You dropped the mask you’d painted with your hand
The words spilled out—a confession, sharp and cold
Of how you traded me for "purer" gold
The Crowned Crow had offered you the sky
And you were eager for the chance to fly
But when the truth was bared, your spirit broke
And out of "mercy," monstrous rage awoke
The foot that knelt in prayer now sought my head
To leave me on the floor, as good as dead
You kicked the temple where I’d held your name
To douse the final embers of my shame
No "sorry" fell from lips that used to pray
As I watched my world dissolve in shades of gray
You clung to me for what my name could give
For the gated life you struggled so to live
You feared the fall from privilege and grace
More than the blood you’d drawn upon my face
Now you return to bang upon the pine
To claim a sanctuary no longer thine
You trespass on the ground you once despised
With madness burning in your kohl-rimmed eyes
The Crowned Crow has flown, the feast is done
And you are left beneath a scorching sun
I sit in silence, listening to your screams
The dying music of your hollow schemes
The mat is folded and the door is fast
The debt of your hypocrisy is cast
Go wander in the desert of your pride
With only ghosts of "elders" by your side