Watching the shepherds ascend
Towards the ambiguous splendour,
We systematically process
Behind them; the same old faces
And a few odd converted complexions.
I follow the line of flock and involuntary
Descend to the ground before the leaders:
Take, eat; this uncertain replica which is
Placed upon my cupped hands.
Automatically entering my throat,
It wretches my body as I become
Dry, like the bony dying away corpse.
My knees tremble as I am commanded:
Drink this; wishing for instant relief,
Cannibalism overtakes every obeyer.
My parched body is scorched as every drop
Flows like a ceremonial river and my forehead
Stings in agony after this weekly torture,
After having been “cleansed” by the Supreme Being.
Feeling abnormally weak I depart, one after
Another, to reflect this ancient routine.
My existence is too great to be cleansed by the almighty thing;
Something which my contradiction cannot comprehend.
© Clare Abbott