At the back of the church,

Ostracized like a leper,

Separated from the lice, Loathed by that family, Watching the vultures flock.

At the back of the church,

Shrouded in ebony hate,

Saddened by a grief and loss,

As the hyenas laugh,

Tortured by their own sick games.

At the back of the church,

Waiting patiently, sadly,

For the Judas to end his words, A final goodbye to the jackals, Good riddance to their plague.

At the back of the church,

I leave, my hands conjoined,

Never to return to the viral fold, Walking content into the sunset, Of my brightly coloured life.