Vigilante Snake-Eyes

Prophets limp on silver seas
Huddled over crutches they remain so blissfully
unaware they’d begged for
No traction against the inevitable
Fall from neither grace nor flooded coffin,
But rather from sick bed
Out of which they’d fail to rise any higher than the average Christ
impersonator
Though always with the same mercenary zeal
That fueled their original death wish--
No vigilante snake-eyes,
Just primitive adrenaline left to fester
in the swill it hath wrought;
Animated with destiny’s subtle mystery
As it fills out a bit part
In heaven’s latest & least obvious
rendezvous with itself