Immaculata mythology. The Virgin Mary bleeding for sins,
believing within that she was flawless, conceiving with Him.
No reason to give in as the choir speaks in a hymn
of guilt-trip anachronistically deviant demons and imps.
You're nodding. Jesus a kid. Or better yet, weak in the limbs,
he hangs from a cross with perfect countenance, releasing our sins.
Now you can pretend the scripture says what they're preaching, but then
you'd be turning a blind eye toward the whole meaning of it.
I'm the shadow streaking across the darkest corners of society.
Disorderly and rioting, I won't be ignored or forced to hide again.
I'm here. Refusing a seat in the sycophant symphony hall,
which makes me infinitely better than you sickening wimps in your shawls.
I don't believe in God. I don't believe in you. I don't believe in John Lennon.
I don't believe in a soft heaven with blue skies and our lost brethren.
I do believe in me. Me is the only thing I can prove,
and if I can prove anything, I exist. It's the simplest rule.
Ego. The prism of fools. Mine diminished in youth.
Through Heraclitus and Hoffer, developed discriminant tools
that serve now as a rubric for unlimited use
of the logical, crystallized truth that no god could have given to you.
"God is dead." Nietzsche had it half-right.
The literal truth is that gods aren't dead; they never existed with any physical roots.
And the burden shall be on the prosecution. This is the view:
God does not exist unless someone can bring us some proof.
Yet there's a counterpoint, an editorial rebuttal re-framing the facts.
Take away their false idols and see how the laymen react.
Atheism opened as a patient strain of thought and counter-philosophy
but without the theocracy, there's no restraint or plot.
We're godless, right? That's the goal of restless Sodomites
who often find a reason to take out their internal misgivings on honest, kind
Jesus-fearing folks who are just fine to walk with blinds
and not worry about some greater truth that simply clogs the mind.
See, religions (all of them, thank you) set guide-paths for the people,
and while you search for meaning in life, many find that under steeple.
Under corruption. The church was built on a series of lies,
a tyranny-tied power structure cleverly yet clearly disguised.
Take souls and collection plates from the hypnotized masses,
and place the sinners' names on a fictional blacklist.
Then they ask what began all the backlash,
with altar boys sacrificed by the most privileged Catholics.
And when the intellects speak, their ears fill up with wax and
their holy redeemer seems to visit the bathroom.
The road to hell is paved with good intentions.
We're all on it. Shook with vengeance, crooks descending.
There's little left. So we might as well try to set a standard
even if we don't tie it to a pious Christian handbook.
So Mary was a whore? So God might not even exist?
The atheist perspective fails to right its grievances.
But there's a power to being correct, a power that's seeded with knowledge,
and without it, we'll continue to have our freedom admonished.
Yet here and now, the wicked men sit, believing they're honest.
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