For Atheists, God does not compute
And religious fervour does not suit.
Believers, on the other hand
Keep their heads down in the sand.
Both camps are certain they are right,
Faiths for which they’re willing to fight
And die.
Well maybe not the Atheists
It must be said:
They stick to logic,
Ruled by the head.

For me I’m baffled why these folk are so certain.
We won’t know The Truth ‘til the Final Curtain.
I guess an Agnostic I’ll always be,
So let’s sit down for a cuppa tea.

Paul Butters

Loving is a verb,
Sign--do not disturb,
Like a kiss of pasta,
Makes a woman bellissima,
Vesuvius explodes,
Time travel in odes,
Aeons of love roads,
I never got over you,
Negativity is so fabulous,
Time travel for the two of us,
I never got over you,
Loving is a verb to view.

No, my mother atheist said,
Long live cricket, God is dead,
Debbie Downer's Nihilist thoughts,
Total negativity she taught,
This is Debbie Downer's doormat daughter,
Saturday sportsmen off to slaughter,
Yes, God is dead,
Long live extreme sports,
That's what Negative Norma said.

Don't shut your eyes.
Give no volunteer.  
They will speak for themselves,
fall over your cheeks,
and mirror your pupils,  
as they roll back,
pulling your conscious with them. Hesitating only enough to leave it behind. But consciousness is always best
kept at the border.
If you find you've been left with enough
to remain alert,
by then, you will be dreaming.  
A distorted image
of prominent conversations,
or any notions with the significance
of being sufficiently alien.
The narcotic superlative,
naturally expressed.
God's allegory of home,
fully understood,
only by those
who discovered it deeply enough
to make it a reality.
But I had always been a skeptic.

If the man you once were saw ahead of time where he would be today,
I know that he wouldn't have allowed this day to come.
A picture of your face would be a reminder in his mind's eye of who he could become if he were to wander away from the light.
I miss that man.
I miss the hope that came with the idea of God.
Its much the same, really.
But the effects of your failure are much more devastating than the let down I feel from the higher father.
And I can still see you with my own eyes.

I can't say how I'm feeling,
But this feeling isn't right.
I was reminded last time
Why I'm staying home tonight.

My views are contradicting
Their feeling of what's right.
Their words cannot convince me,
As they're failing to provide.

It is with hope,
My words convince you
As I give my reason why.
It is not yours to decide
The outcome of my plight.

Smoke fills the air,
They whisper prayers.
Uninvolved, I stand up tall.
What I was taught are not the laws,
I will stay home all night long.

I don’t mean to be insulting
To all you devout Blisstians
But I am not, and won’t be
Any kind of American Christian.
I have studied long and hard
Over a half century of years
And thus, I shall leave you all
To your hopes and your fears.

I find your religion
A strange philosophy.
It doesn’t quite work,
Or so seems to me.
Your god will have
An End Of Days mess
You do what you want
And then you confess.

You can be a right *****
Until you are ninety three
And then confess to Jesus
And you’re home free.
So, tell me again, please
How does this thing go
That there are things that your
Omnipotent god doesn’t know?

It doesn’t seem to be
Well thought out to me.
After thousands of years
Of sainted holy history.
It sounds more like it’s
A money-making scheme;
A deferred payment plan,
A fun-house ride of screams.

Looking back on the stories,
Two thousand years of war;
Of persecution and burning
And horrendously much more.
And who wrote what and when,
And more importantly why,
This mythological poem here
Could make a grown scholar cry.

So, I shall reserve my judgment
About your Judgment Day
I’ll go on and live my life
In a kind and considerate way.
I won’t put on your robes
And make your sacrifices.
I will thank you all to leave me
To my own Un-Christian devices.

Men of Reason: bold, progressive
hammer wielders, depth resounders –
shout from the helm your Godless missive
as our Bible-lifeboat flounders.

Send that Flying Spaghetti Monster,
our imaginary friend,
to the myth-conception dumpster:
let the Bronze Age folktales end.

Make the idols bow to Science.
Your progressive task: to mock –
seek that end in brave defiance.
Down with the shepherd’s useless flock !

Laser-focused human reason
serves to clarify the matter,
strips the symbols from the season,
superstitious tales to shatter.

We, mere rubes in need of crutches,
simple children, willing tools –
must be rescued from the clutches
of the fables preached to fools.

Seamless garments, bushes burning:
are but schemes for fleecing sheep…
We are plebes devoid of learning;
rouse our silly souls from sleep!

Flood us with your noontide wisdom
decimate the weaker link.
Blow away our card-house kingdom
show us Christards how to think.

Then, like you, we shall no longer
cling to ignorance and lies.
Missing links make chains yet stronger,
dragging fairies from the skies.

We shall join you in assurance
that there is no great beyond
thus no need for fire insurance
clergy, staff or magic wand.

We shall celebrate together
joyful, freed from superstition
endless, godless sunny weather:
non-existent non-perdition.

Having thus improved the light
and magnified Man’s modern day,
God’s angels will expire in fright;
the Lord shall meekly fade away.