To The Blasphemous

If you still spit

at the Moon

you make your foul mouth

dirtier.

Ask the moon

how it split apart

in love

upon a glance

of the Beloved.

The damned no ones

of your clan

ever fail to besmirch

the countenance of Truth.

You too have tried

to sneak in wrong

into a page of history,

only to be stricken through

in time

as there is no truth to be read

between your lines.

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