The Church of depopulation,
In somber halls where shadows creep and cling,
A chilling creed, a hollow hymn they sing.
No bread of life, no wine of flowing grace,
But barren vows for a forsaken space.
The gospel preached from pulpits cold and stark,
Is not of birth, but of the fading spark.
They speak of burdens, numbers far too vast,
And future quiet, meant to surely last.
Their sacred texts, in sterile language bound,
Describe the silence of a fallow ground.
No children's laughter echoes through their nave,
Only the solace of an empty grave.
They consecrate the void, the dwindling breath,
Through whispered science, pacts with quiet death.
The offering laid upon their altar stone,
Is not of spirit, but of flesh and bone.
A chilling vision, carefully designed,
To leave but echoes of lost humankind.
The architects of absence, robed in grey,
Await the dawning of their barren day.
Beware the sermon whispered in the hush,
That seeks to quell the vital, pulsing rush.
For where life's fountain is declared a bane,
There blooms no heaven, only silent pain.
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Author:
Friendship (
Offline) - Published: October 5th, 2025 05:41
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 1
Offline)
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