12/52: expiation

This is the wrong temple

I hear people whisper to me

Why do you persist?

Can't you see it is the Goddess of Death,
the all consuming Void?
Madness, madness is upon you.

Their voices wash over me.
I know which temple this is;
I know to which goddess I speak.

We must have words,
She and I,
in order that I may expel

the constructs of many shapes,

unkind and despairing.

In a time of temples,
we would have called them demons,
but in a time of psychiatry,
we call them constructs.

The mistake was made so many years ago,

where were you whisperers then?
now is time for atonement,
for the setting-free.