Godless

 

A poem on the gagging of God...

 

Why do we debate our soul’s very existence?

Lacking abstinence and persistence.

We left our consciousness far behind,

As the rotting soul eats its fallen mind.

We chase our tail –around, around,

And fall hard on solid ground.

Exhausted bitter, grieved torn,

Filling our minds with sulphur –we forget to morn.

We, the murderers of humanity,

Bask in our mistakes and drunken clarity.

We awake from our beds, to sleep in our graves,

Whipping the truth, as evil behaves.

We cut our feet and march up mountains.

What is of the Greeks and their knowledge fountains?

For what we knew is lost,

And future learning comes with cost.

Will we have to reverse this cycle?

But it seems we have broken the cycle.

The cry, ’The Horror, the Horror,’ haunts the halls.

The marching of men with the shots and falls,

We laugh at the burnings of history and life.

Strived, will strive, strife.

Adam and woman knew not of the cost,

Did they not take that which is lost?

The tongues of Babel, the Flood of earth,

The new dawning of man –rebirth.

Burnt, burns, burning.

The very wheels of Heaven turning.

Forget about development and lovers of truth,

Forget the wise, look to the youth!

The romans came crashing through,

Born from providence, born from lies, straight and true.

They civilise land.

Coliseums and palaces with ‘happiness’ and ‘joy’ a-grand.

Their gods we make our hero,

We cry, ‘Hail him, make Nero Hero!’

Obscuring lines of certainty and the sure,

We change the whims into towers secure.

Then the Messiah –we surely agree?

No! We twist the truth and leave Him on that tree.

Then the fall of Earth’s  great city,

Divided in two, eaten up by pity.

From which emerges a dishevelled flower,

Destroying Grecian knowledge and Roman power.

Naturally, we change this for the better,

And for the sake of generations to follow –for days that are wetter.

But the flower blooms to Renaissance flame –love, peace, joy singes,

Tearing the reformation from history’s hinges.

We scrape away church and saintly calls,

As screams of religion echo in ancient halls.

‘THE HORROR! THE HORROR!’

‘The horror, the horror…’

A little life surfaces from the rubble,

The other lands bathe in trouble.

We live with Louis in Versailles,

And make up long and deciphered tales.

We try to gag God through the arts,

But history fails without essential parts

Yet still we gash true life from World Wars and strife,

We spit and shout, slash and stab, sword and knife.

We try to kill the reason we live and walk,

Burn the truth –let youth talk.

As if we are in existence by mere chance, we can’t perceive,

We forget the truth of Adam and Eve,

Like an agnostic atheistic world we deflect and repulse.

Then we realise we are dying –we have no pulse.

 

 

By Joshua Pike