howls from St. Peter's den

howls from St. Peter's den  
 
why am I at peace with the overtures of the dead  
grey and blackened shields entomb the fallen from predators like this charcoaled wolf  
for I've long given up my chances for redemption  
I simply prowl as a carrion feeder weaving amongst the markers  
A vessel for those seeking salvation  
 
I am not stirred by the reconstruction of souls I never knew  
I need only hide behind the monotheistic bait for those foolish enough to believe in divinity  
 
Crepuscular bandits bobbing  in my wake borough for morsels of the soulless  
Blood was spilled in every story told  
and it's all I need to whet and sate my purpose  
 
Shroud your loved ones with tears and shrieks of sorrow you hypocrites  
Their passing makes room for you  
 
Heard by few are your hollow bellows of grief  
that echo within the catacombs by which I slumber this night  
And the within the shell that you perpetuate  
 
I'm panting now  
My pulsating tongue and syncopated breath  
deciphers your camouflage  
Capitulation serves you best    
for I will be fed in the stone garden of St Peter's  
 
His gates were not designed to keep me in  
 
They are merely a testament that you can't stay out  
 
Postscript: written after spending a night at one of my havens; St. Peter's church and cemetery.  I slept nestled among the tombstones.  
 
Presented in the - A Night in A Graveyard  challenge hosted by Madame Lavender