The farce of religion

from Falcon - Wednesday, February 14, 2007
accessed 763 times

Wrote this while still in the cult.

Dark stone halls bearing high arches,
And secrets of another age.
Illumined only by the light brush
Of a candelabra flame.
A long shadow falls across
The cold cobbled floor;
Hooded figure in a cassock.
Tortured soul, whispered agony;
A priest in wretched torment,
Of mind, and body.
Slumped upon his bruised knees;
"Where are you, My God?"
"Long have I served you;
Long has Patience awaited
The fruition of her trial.
But she bears only blood.
Not even a mutant child
To attest to her sufferings.
Nothing. Only agony;
Sweat, blood, tears,
Trial, temptation.
My back bears the deep scars of
Countless wounds inflicted for Thee.
But you hear not, neither see!
You are only a statue.
A figure of marble, unfeeling;
Staring down from your lofty cross
Upon the agony of mankind.
Cold as the stone from which you are carved.
Stone cannot see.
Stone cannot hear.
Stone cannot speak.
Stone cannot feel.
But I am flesh.
I see, I hear, I feel, I live.
I see nothing but Your wrath
I hear nothing but meaningless chants
I feel nothing but the sting of the whip
And the gnawing pangs of hunger;
I live in the darkness of eternal damnation.
Where are you, My God?"
Alone in semi-blackness,
Only the icy breath of stone
To caress his burning head.
The last embers of faith extinguished
Within the cold vaults of Religion.