Jul 4, 2019
Churches are consecrated ground, it’s true, But I avoid for more reason than this: Depictions of the man that I once knew Immortalized in death and pain, no bliss. I loved him once, the son of God, though strange. I should not love, much less should I love him And yet he brought hope that the world might change, That even my future was not so grim. Not just in churches, my love’s corpse, it hangs, A light of hope for those that do believe. The sight pierces my heart with sorrow’s fangs And never lets me move on; still I grieve. Everywhere shows that cross that was his grave; There’s no escaping he I could not save.
A sonnet based on the theory I’ve seen going around that Crowley was Mary Magdalene.
