Don’t speak to me of saviors,
of men who walked on water
and moved a mighty mountain
but died like any other,
to be served up to the faithful
like lambs lined up for slaughter,
protected from the weather by a coat of many colors,
none of which will save them
from the ground that must reclaim them
when the seas of reason,
that provided succor
for many hungry sailors,
are frozen like a feral creature
whose eyes reflect the headlights
of that it can’t remember
we’ll sink beneath the reach of saviors like a stone.