AN: This is an original poem I wrote and entered into some journals. Then I thought this would work amazing for Boondock Saints-one of my favorite movies.
Discliamer: I own the poem, but I do not own Boondock Saints...if I did, they would be in every major city in the United States.
Premise: One of the saints come into a church and this is their reply to the priest there.
So who are you to console me?
Does that penguin suit hide some darker secrets?
You have no touch in the world, what it truly is.
You are an observer, protected by these so called sacred beams
Knowing nothing of the precious creation you try so hard to help.
So who are you to comfort me?
I am of that place—those retched filthy lands.
I have known the unspeakables—the terror of the tortured
The heartache. The betrayal. The loneliness.
The suffocating dirt of soiled souls engulfing me in shadowy flames.
So who are you to try and save me?
Though I am here, I am still able.
I am still able to stand from this bended knee.
I only needed respite from the torturous storm that buffets your stained glass.
While I am battered and broken, I am not yet down.
So let me wallow in my misery
Just for a little while longer, that is all I need.
To let the pain and sorrow slough off my tattered wings
And regroup the fading light of my embattled and embittered soul.
Then I will return. Return the realm which I have been sentenced to.
So just let me breathe.
Exunt.