Holy Murder

Sometimes I wonder how would I be as a priest. Not in contemporary times, for they have only either little influence or immense ridicule and accusations. No, what if I was a priest housed in ancient Barcelona or Naples? In a time where my words would have been taken as laws of nature.

A single man waging wars in the name of an unseen relentless god.

Anyone’s god.

A god with no face or body to claim except the sins of the universe. 

Oaks growing from pulsing vessels and waters taken hostage in the name our god. Not your god. Your god is and heathen.

But heathen grow strong when the god is weakened. 

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