MOANERS’ CRY

 

The fifth seal splits—

souls under the altar howl,

slain for truth,

their blood a bitter river.

 

Justice hangs like a blade,

and Jesus—silent—

hands it over.

 

Matthew’s ink bleeds:

divorce’s iron yoke,

too heavy for soft hearts, hearers told.

Disciples flinch—

“Better not marry.”

He carved it sharp:

 

“Not every soul can stomach this.”

It cuts deep:

 

Some born this way,

some hacked by man’s blade,

some swearing off women’s beds

for heaven’s sake.

Three wounds—

all ducking the wedding trap.

 

Eunouchos, eunouchizō—

not tame celibates,

but men cut away—

an ancient breed,

crushed, carved,

dodging Moses’ roll call.

 

And Jesus smirks—

not every heart’s chained to one mold.

Love bends where law snaps.

 

The moaners cry

for love—

for truth’s sharp edge—

lies Christians spun from hate.

The blade doesn’t lie,

the scriptures laid bare—

the hearts of men decide which to spare.