There was a funeral in St. Thomas d'Aquin,
And it wasn't in the Latin tongue,
Not English, Italian, not even Norse.
It was unctioned in French, of course.
But it may as well've been Greek.
I sat reserved in my seat,
As many a French rose up to speak.
But the incense was the same,
And the holy water sprayed on my glasses,
And I sat as people knelt
And blessed themselves,
And joined in on the refrain,
I knew it by its name: Le chemin. La verite. La vie.
It's a form of glossolalia,
And it's coming for us daily.
The mourners were onto something more,
Than words, gestures and litanies,
Something greater than any of these,
Yet the translation was lost on me.

Oh God, my God, I wish you were there,
I wish I could leave here, without a care.
Oh God, My God, we used to be friends,
Your voice stopped calling,
And I kept on falling,
Oh God, I dreaded the day our love ends.

Oh God My God, I want to touch Base,
To feel once again, the warmth of your face.
Oh God, My God, We fell out of touch,
I became self-reliant,
When your voice fell silent,
Oh God, Why stop giving? Did I ask for too much?

Oh God, my god, You left me alone,
Alone to speak of a cold empty throne.
Oh God, my god, like a ship lost at sea,
I long for the war,
I don’t fight any more,
Oh god, hands over my eyes, but now I can see.

Oh god, my god, I know you arnt there,
I gave you my all, like longs needing air.
Oh god, my god, books back on the shelf.
I’ve been granted reprieve,
I no longer believe,
Oh god, there’s no god, so I speak to myself.

If there is a god in the sky
why did he gave us so many tears to cry,
why did he give us a body
that can only give us pains and false pleasure.

If there is a god in the sky
why are there so many who die
not knowing more than a fly
not knowing how to ask why.

If there is a god in the sky
why did he give me this body I hate
and the only thing he says to me
is: "Girl just do what you can"

If there is a god in the sky
why do we die, why do they die
and leave us only with tears to cry
and leave us alone in a world that is vane.

If there is a God in the sky
why aren't we born alike
why do so few hold so much
while others die not knowing none.

Death drew lines in sand,
Boarders on grass and divides
Sea and land. But know
The scorpion will strike, snake glides and bites

A predator; not of ill-belonging, but of fear.
Birds float across continents,
Dolphins flow and follow the tide.
Exhaust all energies or you can hide;

Forget illusion of deity and rebirth,
Of perfection and redemption.
Let live. Accept and move along,
Move along with your only feet for as long.

The absurd, the faults and the strengths,
Believe no charity nor fate or luck,
Swallow dignity and hate;
Or choke on beliefs soon to break.

What happens now is up to you.
Rise with scarlet sun and high-sky blue
For not even language is absolute; it deviates time.
Grasp words you know, tell me what’s mine.

If I'm wrong, I die.
I cease to exist.
But I know what it's like not to exist.
Or at least I can imagine.

I didn't exist before I did.
For billions of years.
And Mark Twain was right.
It didn't bother me in the slightest.

But I'll give it a chance.

I will read Awake!
And I'll visit the Hall.
And I'll use your name for God.
Jehovah.

But what if you're wrong?
You feel joy, love, peace.
Meaning, purpose, certainty.
Those things elude me.

But what else?
Fear? Guilt? Isolation?
A hatred that you call pity?
Those things are beyond my reach.

An education cut short?
A marriage too long?
"Don't talk to her.
It's for her own good."

What if it's not?

There will always be people trying to hurt you.
It's easier when they have God on their side.

"Two eyes saw this, but two others did not.
I'll take my reward now.
Did I mention I'm good with kids?"

What if you're wrong?

Sure, your Tower is tall.
It dwarfs my cathedral.
And it does.
I stand in awe.

Your Tower is tall.
It Watches all things.
And it does.
But is it tall enough to see Clearwater?

You know, Celebrity Centers and personality tests.
Cruise and Travolta.
Your names are different: Michael Jackson and Prince.
But the songbook is the same.

Leadership is accountable to no one.
Dissent is a **** that must be eliminated.
The world is out to get you.
And critical thinking is a trap.

Families are vital (until they aren't).
Our authority will not be questioned.
We make no mistakes.
But we do become more perfect over time.

"But it's not 'disconnection,' it's disfellowship.
And they're not 'suppressives,' they're apostates.
And we live in no bubble.
But we'd rather not debate you."

"Besides, they're new.
They're small and they're few.
They have strange beliefs.
That's what matters, right?"

But it's not.
It's not what matters.

And it's not in my nature to hurt people.
I can **** when it's justified.
But I don't know that this is justified.

And consider the life of a poor, worldly soul.
Fear is no friend.
Guilt is a memory.
(Guilt for things that warrant no guilt.)

We see the world as it is.
Science is no threat.
Solitude is a choice, not a lesson.

Education is full.
Abuse is reported.
Families talk.

We are slaves to no Slave.

Of course these things are foreign to you.
Your book precludes them.
And your book is infallible.
But so are all the others.

So thank you for visiting, but I'm hedging my bets.
I wish you the best, but I'd rather take death.

Karmic omissions saturate the spell
Of which was deserted eons ago
Left overtaken by virulent vines
Seething from how the Almighty's sun shines
They seek to confront everything they can
Within the rhythms of algorithms
In a most preposterous way in day
For the absolute lack of its match
To their steely visions of humdrum
So now, it is finally up to us
To play the now vacant, coveted ***
Our dear God was, before He took the bus