How Good is Friday

You only know Love from books and dreams. You don't really know what it really means You recite prayers for hereafter with your eyes closed herein, as though the Kingdom was not really within. You like the places of prominence before large congregations and feastly celebrations to recite your profundity spun from fecundity without reality to understand its trajectory. You are very wise in your own eyes. And they are wide shut. You see your own lids not the life out front. I tried to tell you how much you were loved and you strung it up for latest mockery I thought I forgive you for your barbarity while you imagined yourself gentility I thought to myself, how sad you have no idea who you are really.