Reverent Piety

(Prose about pride.)

Mankind was not made with gentle hands. The sharp tools of God were firm. The clay was

hardened. The gravity of Adam’s exile led us to this Earth, we were conceived through the

Lord’s divine justice and wrath. Oh, How he blew his crux into our vessels, into our clay

carcasses, how his holy breath must have been blinding and hot, it made us self-righteous.

His creation therefore carries itself with a false sense of moral pride, in our arrogance we all

walk with our heads high and far from humility, quick to pounce and bite at the prospect of our

self- defense, hesitant to clutch hands together in mercy when framed with our own

lapses. Is it not natural? In each of us sparkles a hint of deus, is it not mere tendency to

defend the heavenly nature in each of us? Prideful. Cursed be mankind, for we were all

cursed with sanctified breath since the dawn of our creations. Pious sinners, willing to

remain ignorant to our own faults. It is as if the false image of paradise we have meticulously

crafted with our own hands binds our eyes shut with a “holy” cloth, silky and smooth, though

it is merely rayon. The synthetic idea suffocates all sense of reason we may see beyond it.

We sin, and sin, and sin. Falling deeper into our own self pity as we repent for selfish

reasons, believing we are all better then one another when in reality the Lord distributed his

being equally in our flawed bodies. We place our own wrongdoing on an altar, burn incense

around our own falsehoods, sweeten them and believe that our sins have been cleansed.

We believe the half-hearted repentance from our tar-like heart’s will guide us to heaven

Crading our deceitful-hands whilst murmuring ancient prayers, deceitful for our action of

desperate prayer betrays our true intentions, heaven for our own beings. “Have mercy on me

Lord, for I have tasted sin, and it is bitter, my flesh has been burned, and it stung. Save me

from such a fate”. Transgressions. Humans stomp and destroy, we sin against the lord

despite his divine imagine and his veneration, for us to be so foolish and live blissfully under

the false pretense that we will not transgress amongst one another, and then to be bursting

with sorrow when we sin against each other, how feeble. We all sin in a way that is

unforeseen against our creator. I fear it is inevitable I will abuse the creations when I defy the

creator itself, one does not disrespect an artist without spitting on his paintings. Have mercy

on me, I am Judas incarnate. Like ceramics, both Judas and I, so concerned with our own

muddy cadavers shattering like precious pottery on the ground, ignorant to the pitiful fingers

that will pick up the shards and pierce through the flesh, and so Judas broke his own

porcelain, he saw no point in preserving it, his transgression against God and his friend left

no holiness left. He shattered, I fear we will. Forgive me, dear painter. forgive me, precious

artwork.