The Hell Upon a Hill (poem about religious cults & inquisitions written in 2014)

In fissiparous burnt-over
districts, Pilgrim Fathers drift like
sharks at peace with their own lurking.
The Inquisitors were devils
at their levels, theirs were revels
of a kind performing Hell for
future generations. Trauma
from that Hell still haunts burnt-over
districts like a bottomless pit,
and neatly on neat benches in
their neat gear do they neatly sit
like animals kept in a pen
of a kind performing Hell for
future generations. Trauma
from that Hell still haunts burnt-over
districts like a bottomless pit,
where watchful for the faintest spark
out in the silence of the dark
they roam the Land of Eyes and Lips
in case a breathing human being trips.