The Wailing Wall

I hear

The suffocation of supplications 

Confined to an western area,

prayers do not get higher than what used to be a ceiling here.

Here, I have heard 

recycling hyms struggling to get out reverse-blasphemy,

Inhaled from the morning noon, now after evening petitions on restless padded knee-deep traditions,

And or sore soles of man they trust in.

Daily I feel the crackling of paper in the... if I had, cracked open rib cage to my most holy vessel. 

When no one is heard, 

Because the ones who hear are many.

It doesn't matter what version of the dash in between or the capital or lowercase letter of 'g',

There are many g-ds.

So which one are you wailing to ?

For centuries these walls of The Temple once stood called The House of A Name our forefathers used to praise and worship daily according to the Torah.

The sacrifice and oblation has cease here. 

What was once the sanctuary of strength is now replaced with the lords of the heavenly habitation.

Polluted.

I remember hearing, 

And feeling, 

Each brick removed like my members being pulled by the Middle Age CPS.

My walls heard the prophets fulfilled. 

And these walls do not hear Their Father Yahweh's Name anymore.

Never in the original writing of the holy scriptures, the Creator identified Himself as a god, 

Only by our Heavenly Father.