The Heretic

I was never born and never shall I die,

I am buried in the earth and mock the skies.

I am not a human nor am I a bird,

Yet I fly, fly into this coldness of humanity.

I was never sane and never insane,

I was never drowning, just swimming away.

I am no sinner nor a lusty saint,

Yet a follower of a god who lost his reign.

I’m no serene symphony nor a raw cacophony,

But a blue guitar with the voice of poverty.

I am no warrior nor a coward king

But the ink which pronounced the evil thing.

I’m no preacher and never a puissant,

But the words which never left the tongue

I am not Christ and never the messiah

Nor a pawn in the war of faith.

I am the poignant poinsettia

Who wishes to leave the scarlet leaves,

Live in the long dead deserts

And withstand the maelstroms of strange desires.

I am not the maggot who thrived

in the meat of the wise magi.

But the mahogany’s lost freedom

Which is now but a bench in thy church.

I’m the one who saw the malignity

Brought to thy holy script, was the declared a malevolent.

Parted from my people because I loved thee,

While my love for him was simple and maladroit .

Just because I learnt what thee had wanted,

And not what the ones who fill their coffers teach you .

I was never born and never shall I die

Let me be buried and mock the skies.