Now we lay him down to sleep

Conveyed with darkness and filled with sadness we marched into the temple

Drapes were still, children cried

Mothers wiped away the tears from their eyes

Vultures circled above the skylight ceiling, drooling, eyeing prey

The man we were mourning was no real man at all

He had been stuffed with hate and raised in turmoil

His life was over the second he was born

The white we wore and the crosses we hung still couldn’t quiet his demonic presence

“The body should have been burned, the body should have been burned” An elderly wimpled lady who was kneeled at one of the pews cried 

And yes the body should have been burned

Along with with the sorrows, the destruction, the evilness that was brought with birth 

“How can you not rejoice the dark for it is what brought us the light” The same elderly lady now standing and raising her arms in the air sang aloud 

He had the power over people

He had that control

He had the divine spirit 

He was waiting for the fall

We were only a small town of few

Always a pray away 

Always a sacrifice away

But when he arrived you would’ve thought Heavens Gate opened and that God himself had leaned in and spoken 

It was significantly more sinister than that

It was much more tragic than that

There were a lot of souls lost  

Our people suffered and no one came to help

Not only was he our savior 

He was our diminish 

Our demise

Our sons killed our men and our daughters laughed watching, there was no cry 

The only thing missing was the rain 

It should’ve been the color red for all the bloodshed, for all the bodies gone 

But No

It was a sunny day 

The light was shining perfectly upon his beastly body  

The cracks in the stained glass windows sucked what little life we had remaining from ours 

Mothers clapping and singing and swaying and crying and touching themselves and touching others “Let him rise again!” 

This was no funeral for a mere mortal but a homecoming for their king

A homecoming for our King

Watching, I cry, holding my stomach, whispering to myself “He shall be born again”