Why bear, that cross, which you, can’t heave
And fear faith, that, pillories passion
In the, seminal stain, of the sin, you believe
Plain instinct, ain’t, Satan’s obsession!

“Little lovable lads, have no, bleeding hymen
Just dumb, naïve rump, sans sin, or shame
May no one, disdain, Father’s faith! Amen!”
And he baptized, his soul, in sin’s, phallic game!

Not far was, a Baptist’s tryst, with infamy
When a, boy bared, to bone, his ‘virgin’ malice
A man’s ‘sin’, lost out to, faith’s, ‘holy alchemy’
In A Parody, Of A Pastor’s, Pious Penis!

© 2020 Vikas Chandra