CATHOLIC SCHISM
Victorious gusts, triumphant tornado
Rewarding winds, reward me, then
My empty pockets beg, much to Martin Luther dismay
In light of this, please consider my wants
My drooping petals, ripped by nor’easter gales
And I thought it was a breath of fresh air
Thought it’d bring a storm
And lightning bolts, like what Martin Luther saw
Instead, only rumbles, not even a quake
And even that was
Gear-shifts on the bypass
So I twiddle my thumbs in the basement
Waiting for a twister that’s never coming