The Butcher who did not garland a photograph

He cut the flesh
Sold the meat and
Made a living.
His tender heart
Only He knew.
His hands deftly
Sliced the flesh
And his mind
likewise
cut open the
bowels of the words.
He knew the truth
He knew the truth
He knew the truth


His workspace
seemed holy
Blood on the altar
Three gods as the backdrop
While roses and lilies
adorned two of them
One left ignored
"The living need no flowers"
he said
The flesh is dead
The word lives
He knew the truth
He knew the truth
He knew the truth