Poisoned to the Rotten Core

The true enemy hides behind the sun;
So much more than a madman with a gun.
An abominable force as odious as He is esoteric;
Impossible to idolize, even in the illusions suffered by the delirious cleric.
Watching us fervently from afar, with such intent
To which even angels would resent.
His glazed stare reanimates with a magnificent spark
Whenever His creations pitch themselves into the dark,
For they now lament in the deep blackness situated beyond His arc.
Try as you might,
Repentance will only intensify your eternal night.
Lose what little faith was programmed into you as you fall prey to God’s blight.
Scowl at the world you behold;
The one you wholeheartedly sold,
Domed to a future deluded in impossible dreams of gold.
The world in which His mouth is the projector
That casts the wispy veil dripping of irresistible nectar
To which all men must fall from grace into the hands of the specter.
The universe in which his hands hold the string
That suspends the earth underneath His wing,
Further establishing His heinous role as sovereign king.
Weep for those who have yet to take that fated descent;
For they still dance to the hollow voice of God to their debased heart’s content.
He is devoid of the passion and love
Instilled into the snow-white dove:
To defy His iron will
Is to welcome heaven’s deathly chill
And to embrace the judgment that pierces like a drill.
----
All the same, the existence of his messenger
Gnaws at the end of your wits in the guise of a pious deliverer.
They are those whom, even in the most heartfelt supplication, He will not answer.
They deal in self-deceit,
As in the eye of the beholder lays the beauty of their poisonous sweet.
Masters of their trade;
Their unholy existence marked only by the scraping of their blade.
They’ve donned the robes of a virtuous saint;
Controlling their warped congregation with sheer constraint.
Of the horrors reeking of God’s hypocrisy, they ardently acquaint.
The calling of their name inspires unfounded rage;
Under the ultimate bondage, it is nigh impossible to gauge
The font from which agony springs in your god-forsaken cage.
How they’re lost in prayers to Him;
In their dreams, they join in praise with an otherworldly hymn,
Their truths and ideals polluted to the brim.
Slaving away on the name of the greatest God;
To scatter the seeds of righteousness, they travel abroad,
Toiling with machinations of the Devil’s flawed.
Devoted and persistent in their belief—
To so doggedly love their God that they would snatch an innocent’s soul like a thief?
Amongst the oblivious masses, they lurk,
Effortlessly guiding their flocks with a single hand’s jerk.
Carved onto their face, a devious smirk.
Out of their mouths flies a single, blind command
To which legions of followers take a stand,
Their feet pressed firmly upon the arid desert’s sand.
Deemed unworthy, their precious earth gave away,
And somewhere within the accursed void they lay;
Shattered, much like their faith’s clay.
Rejected by the God they thought they knew and loved, in their unrelenting sorrow they were drowned.
With a grand voice from the light above they were bound:
“Do you not know you are standing upon hallowed ground?”
Category:DFPC15
Category:We Go Bump 2
Category:Gods
Category:Poetry
Category:Reality