Dead Gods Grant No Miracles

If the curvature is positive we clash forever and ever. Negative, we tear each other apart. In the night the small hours of the morning grow large. The shadow had battled with the light and lost, but this victory is nothing more than a mirage, for darkness always returns to even out the score.

Walking home that night darkened hues crept alongside my hollow footsteps. My mind was full of strangers screaming in foreign tongues; of children being burnt at the stake; of tortured souls whimpering from the lashes and the beatings. I thought of sun-bleached bodies boiling on crucifixes, of blood, and of fire.

I will sleep easy tonight, for dead gods grant no miracles.

Giuseppe Gillespie – November 2021

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