The Appointed Son of God

He hailed himself the Son who'd save all men,

made the south’s crown jewel his open Eden,

“Behold my land—New Jerusalem’s gold,”

“Your faith, your bodies—mine to have and hold,”

Yet all your claims are nothing but a ken

We rise at last, your masks dissolve in light,

You run to hinterlands, clinging to your might,

You tainted psalms you pledged to keep unmarred,

Then ran as gavel struck your crumbling guard,

No “Son of God” outruns the long, cold night.