Praiseworthy -religion-: Areopagus of corrupted specters praying to the wolf of crucified shadows.

John 18:1-14
Jesus Arrested
18 When he had finished praying, Jesus left with his disciples and crossed the Kidron Valley. On the other side there was a garden, and he and his disciples went into it.
2 Now Judas, who betrayed him, knew the place, because Jesus had often met there with his disciples. 3 So Judas came to the garden, guiding a detachment of soldiers and some officials from the chief priests and the Pharisees. They were carrying torches, lanterns and weapons.
4 Jesus, knowing all that was going to happen to him, went out and asked them, “Who is it you want?”
5 “Jesus of Nazareth,” they replied.
“I am he,” Jesus said. (And Judas the traitor was standing there with them.) 6 When Jesus said, “I am he,” they drew back and fell to the ground.
7 Again he asked them, “Who is it you want?”
“Jesus of Nazareth,” they said.
8 Jesus answered, “I told you that I am he. If you are looking for me, then let these men go.” 9 This happened so that the words he had spoken would be fulfilled: “I have not lost one of those you gave me.”[a]
10 Then Simon Peter, who had a sword, drew it and struck the high priest’s servant, cutting off his right ear. (The servant’s name was Malchus.)
11 Jesus commanded Peter, “Put your sword away! Shall I not drink the cup the Father has given me?”
12 Then the detachment of soldiers with its commander and the Jewish officials arrested Jesus. They bound him 13 and brought him first to Annas, who was the father-in-law of Caiaphas, the high priest that year. 14 Caiaphas was the one who had advised the Jewish leaders that it would be good if one man died for the people.”
Clerical cunning of the unfortunate souls heaped around the petty spectre: Jesus, seeking to obtain from the nights the livid darkness, tearing the contemplative silence of the poet invoking the noise of the nothingness of the gods encumbered by the non-existence announcing the crimes that hide in the shroud of the resurrected nights without inner contemplation of the sovereign souls and without poetic silence torn by the dagger of the pallid darkness’s.
A pale anguish that reigns over history invoking the twilight of the infinite prolongations of the shadows of the persecuting masses invoking the ancient divinities of the leaden vengeance of the inanimate statues on thinking life, suspecting the Soul to be sovereign seeking to enslave all the souls colonised by earthy nature turned pale by the nocturnal escapades of the colonial ghosts! And the bluish fugues of the nebulous spirits from their historical graves hidden in the snowy mists of the barbarian forests devouring the contemplative silence and wrapped in the shameful ooze of the buried spectres because it is normal to replace an erudite poem by a consensual crime!
It is the ectoplasm of the words drawn on the bluish lips of the treacherous returnees from the abyss in order to perpetuate the fall of souls in the cabalistic jig of the spirits immigrated towards the rambling paths of the conjurations of the mists invoking the night of the mysteries of the tombs appeared in front of the areopagus of the corrupted spectres weighed down by the stinging weight of the interminable years of the holy corruption of the pariahs of modern times: Kings, queens, princes and princesses praying to the wolf of the crucified shadows since antiquity and invoking the gods and goddesses of the innate vengeance of the crown of thorns worn by the slaughtered figure: Jesus in order to wear the tangled celestial crown offered by the twilight of misty time to the eternal wretched souls haunted by the famine of nobility, the miserable souls of the crowned heads by the crime of the severed heads .
Tears of ink that dripped on the haggard faces of a distant abyss of "religion": the swordsman awakening the desolation of the unfortunate specters whose souls since antiquity have left the honor of a worthy existence that never experiences hunger for titles´-or-treasures apart from that of language.
A sneer of sceptical anger staggering over the dismayed shadows of the criminals of antiquity bearing the anguished germs of the paths similar to the groping of confused souls .
cowardly spirits skirmishing greedy ideas experiencing the pettiness of an existence eternally suspended on an ancient cross, mad equinox tides that crash on the shores of tears forever, arcs of fog praising the gods of "Christian" vengeance " of Jesus the shabby, the character afflicted by heavy ancient cruelty in order to rock in the abyss of "Christian" souls colonized by frustration, anger and colonial famine the germ of eternal murderous thought.

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