"I won't help you nor your brother
till you both get right with god"

My sister asking you for help
should have brought out any goodness
you had left inside, not this rancor and bitter swill

It's times like this I weep
it's times like this that I wonder
if heaven exists, what will we find
behind the curtain and the booming voice?

I am not a perfect soul
but the goodness inside me
yearns to grow without promise of
reward or threat of repercussion

One day you will either receive retribution
or you will just cease to exist
either way, I hope you find the peace
that the cancer you call religion, could never give you