Sunday, August 3, 2014


Those who tell our youth of olden times,
Speaking with a resolve as hard as brick,
Preaching stories of old crimes, in rhyme,
To simple minds who they easily trick.

Ancient brains who neglect all things sublime
In religion, and warn of god’s vengeful stick.
Pseudo-gods, nothing breaks their climb,
Over everything, their souls with ambition sick.

I say go, sit on god’s throne for some time,
Rule over His creation with your whip’s licks,
And speak of your wrath, hellfire and grime,
Then all people’s fates you get to pick.

God is most merciful, His name equally sublime,
Unchanged in calls of mosques or churches chimes.

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