I wrote the following about 6 months ago but I've been sitting on it, adjusting it slightly, dusting off every now and then before putting it away again. I'm still not sure about it. It is very niave, but how I feel, in a lot of respects, about the birth of Christianity. I think the best I can call it my extremely limited, niave study of the hypocrisy of organised relgiions.
They captured the speakers of the Word
Had them flagellated
Without any consideration
Not discussed nor debated
Over bones they picked and chose
Called the rest apocryphal
Writing It was a reverent art
Hiding truth in obtuse style
They gathered non-believers
Forced from them dirty confessions
Tortured and crucified all as heretics
Then left them as gory lessons
At no time did they seek
Guidance from those who knew
Just blazed their crooked pathes
Leaving behind but few
Today the Word is Gospel
To those who can afford
The faith of blind belief
Without benefit of knowing the Lord
Don’t ask me if I believe
Far too much blood is still being spilt
To me it is the same blood
On which this Word was built
Don’t ask what I believe
My soul will never wilt
I have no need for archaic faith
Nor a life with needless guilt