Amidst the Temples

Progress has filled the skies
With Babylonian shrines,
Temples where kids after earning
Robes go to worship; esteemed,
When one is welcomed in their ranks,
By priests in suits
Riding well-oiled carriages.

The acolytes want nothing
Than to be priests;
To live
In the same mini-temples,
Driving the same carriages;
To wear
The finer gold-embroidered robes,
Stabbing sacrifical lambs;
To this,
In devout worship, applying themselves,
Day-in day-out.

Some will live out their days never
Attaining priesthood, all the while scorning
Servitude and peers, former slaves who,
By faithful worship and more cunning,
Have gone on to shedding blood.
A smile of fortune if any of these
Live out a ripe old age.

Out on the temple courtyard I look up at the skies,
The sight of green-spirited trees in the wind
Fade temples to gray.