Present whereabouts?

pariscatacombs-2

Hopeless- She makes us, our Whore
insensate in the gutter!
Vanished has She, Nikki
without ceremony or fuss
witness, our confusion and wonder
We hear Her
from somewhere, whisper
repetitions to ourselves, responses muttered
As over our heads we pour
his blood, warm, dark and sour
and soil ourselves
with the products of his digested flesh
Smeared upon our foreheads
The turned symbol of the crucifix!
Now Dying alone in rat ridden gutters
as below and under
the streets and ways
Our absent Lady with purpose wanders

Her shameless silence, unwarranted
But to be expected
from Satan’s bless’ed
The Glory, Lord of the Dead
Oh, Goddess!
Why Silent as the crypt?
Range about your necropolis, alone then
And upon every rowed tooth, write
Satanic glyphs, letters, Prophesies of Satan Risen
With scribbled words
speak of portents and signs
Let the mouths of the dead
Speak of when, again, to Earth, gore covered, you’ll arrive

At what time, will the bones reassemble?
Oh Lady, the thought makes heaven and all above Hell, spasmodically tremble
Panic reigns, defensive actions planned
in fits and starts, Heaven aflight!
No chance to survive Your army’s final march!

pariscatacombs-5

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