a patron of the Lord died in deep sleep
upon awakening, a voice rises from clouds of blue
a looming presence creeps, the patron would heed to soon
ancient cloth of tattered white,
blazing head of silver, eyes and hands alight,
“your patron has awaited an allotted period,
your adherence was adept and your sins have been forgiven.”
taken aback, the humble follower could not be requited,
“how dare ye, wicked beast, hollow deceiver,
vile devil which should lead me astray!;
the face and many names are not for you, fictitious idol, to claim;
for you are a figment, a dream, a concept which kneels physically
to the exalted one just as me!”
and the righteous patron was cast aside to the fire with ease.