Temple of Words

There was once a pastor, a strong one as I was told. Not to young, not too old In spirit and God he was bold: he would pray till it was cold. There was once a pastor. A strong one as I was told. In the world he was the best he never prayed without a fast. Demons with heads he would cast people ran to him with cash fast, but he would say God's the first. Only faith is what you need to rest but not long he fell at last that fall was a great blast. There was once a pastor, a fallen one as I was told. That fall was so great that it sealed his fate. He fell for a woman's tent, she was such a devil's sent she seduced him and like pet he succumbed to her threat. He jumped on her to have a taste; two nights and a day, they slept together till his faith was rent. There was once a pastor, a deceived one I was told. When he realised his mistake, he wept for eating such a cake. He thought of what he broke, His spirit in soul was now a fake

Februarys, Ogres that transform every four turns.  They beg to be chosen by the counts of times. But when their wish is done, Their good shadow is gone. Those months that led them to the ladder, They would maltreat and make them weaker. February though the tiniest among the counts in time, Yet mounts up wings of the devil’s fall  With all mind and valor to grow tall. A February I knew and examined with great view;  His ways and acts I have decided to review So that months and days will no longer bear its curse.  Like a saint, it comes begging to achieve its course,  Just to have limited days as breeds: For four years, it says, dead are your needs But a year anon, we fought for feeds. Two years before January breaks its last egg Before the thirty-first day releases its peg It speaks of goodness and solidity But it quakes all months’ personality. February shines with colours of deceit, With words of mouth they cannot forfeit: These blur Nov-Jan’s