Stigmata by Chris Modarelli.

Stigmata

Arise, Arise O’ morning wind;
and speak of rain, of abject pain
of searing stars — of godly wars,
and all the wicked men who sinned,
and blow the sons of Man and God,
and all who dare transcend my blood,
and fill my cage, and feel my rage,
and tell me — one more time — I’m God.
Arise, Arise, unsheath your swords,
these lashes, toss, and get the cross,
You know I am God’s chosen lamb!
You know I am the Lord of Lords!
Despised and outcast by mankind,
Though to their own sins, they’re blind.
They know not they have gone astray.
But I am — of God — of a divine mind!

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