The god who bleeds

I was born from dust, I was molded from clay,

I was a thing of mud, of rock and slate,

I was every pound of carrion carcass-meat,

Then every shifting sheaf of harvest-wheat,

Smelted into iron sheets,

By every new efficiency,

I was stamped upon golden leaf,

Corporated through currency,

Societal convergency,

You hoarded me,

You hunted me,

I was borne on the back of kings,

Sprouted by every dynasty,

Shunned by the Nazarene,

But spread by His legacy,

Raised by the factory,

Heralded by industry,

Vilified, enemy,

Then deified, deity

I was circulated by your heartbeats,

I was quantified by your balance sheets,

By every grasping yearning hand that seeks,

Every microsecond utility,

To seize impossibility,

And throttle ambiguity,

I am the altar and I am the god who bleeds

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