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Mark Oct 2019
Was Jesus an impersonator
Or the original son of the creator
Did he steal ones name
Then get all the credit and fame
Lying about
Hanging about
Lazily wandering about
The non factual stuff he was saying
No wonder we still have heaps of doubt
Maybe, he could tell a great bedtime story
If so, did he copyright it all
And will he sue for defamation
Or was he just like the rest
Just after all the worlds glory
While I inside hiding
The real source of his information
All things come and go
Like World Leaders, Empires
Big Bang Theories & Co
He went on trial, then got lucky
Had groupies follow him  
Hundreds of miles, along the Nile
Do you think
He will bother to give us a call
Before he comes back down
To judge us all
Gee time flies
When you believe in yourself
Hope I'm still here, if he returns
To at least defend myself
Jesus Christ, Oh my God
God just spoke to me
Looks like, I'm the chosen one
He said, get ready
Then, wait for his text
For I'm up next
For has anyone ever bothered
To do a family tree search
If you did, you would know that dad
Had more than just the one son
We have the same DNA as mum
But dad emptied his spirit
Into, not just the one ****** bowl
So next time you hear
The almighty word from ones mouth
Listen carefully from deep inside
Ones very own memory soul
Remember your parents advice
When you were a young youth
Because all creatures born on earth
Instantly know the meaning of ones life details
So don't ever think
You are the chosen black sheep
In your family’s fairytales
Live your life, fly like a bird
Just be Happy and Free
And be one with your creator.
Mark Oct 2019
It's not time to have a crusade

Just settle down, take it slowly

You're still naive, that's your culture

There's so much you have to do though

Find a cause, totally commit

if you want you can join

Look at me, I am wise, but I'm content


I was made for this life, yes indeed

You were made for this life, with me

and I can't get enough of this life

Can you get enough of me?


Welcome to the Grand Cathedral Deluxe

Such a heavenly pad (Such a heavenly pad)

Such a heavenly pad

Plenty of spirit at the Grand Cathedral Deluxe

Very nice indeed (Very nice indeed)

You can get a feed


You may say I'm a believer

But I'm not the Holyfield one

I hope someday he'll help us

And the church will pray as one


They can't go on preaching

With deviant minds

And we can't enjoy our youth

'cause of deviant minds


Like at *******

felt for the very first time

Like at *******

when you get goosebumps [out in public, makes you feel bad]

Priest don't mind


Everywhere there sinning now

I'm surrounded by your members

Father, I can see your demon

You know you're my trusted place

You're everything I trust and adore

It's written all over your face

Father, I can see your demon

Pray ya won't mess me about


'Cause your gettin' baptised alright

And no one's gonna save you from the priest about to sin

You know your baptised, baptised alright

You're screaming for your life, inside the confession box, baptised alright


We don't need no vandalism

We don't need no higher order

No dark secrets in the cloakroom

Preachers leave them boys alone

Hey preacher leave them boys alone

All in all you're just another ***** in my life

All in all you're just another brick in my life


Cause if you liked it, doesn't mean you can put ya stick in it

If you liked it then you should've got a grown-up with a hole in it

Don't get mad, once you see that he's 'bout to blow

If you liked it then you should've got a blowup with a hole in it


Let me wait for him to get so near to me

Creepy Cardinal Priest

Drop your ******* and stop your abuse

Creepy Cardinal Beast

Bring it on

Afraid?

Pray Ay Ay Ay

Pray Ay Ay Ay Ay

Pray Ay Ay Now
Megan Jones Sep 2019
"A child may not be
considered a piece of property-
only the child possesses genuine rights
the Right to be respected as a person
from the moment of his conception"
He was born in the year 1964
A world on the brink of splitting open,
On the edge of revolution, progress, protest

The stained glass windows speckled from the rain
Incense and old wood covered in fingernail imprints
Matching those on the sides of his arms
A small choir singing hymns of Salvation and Praise
His mother nudges him "stand up straight, eyes forward"
A mind wandering from the homily on Sacrifice
To the images of bombings in Hamburg

Adorned with black and white collars
Gripping an unlabeled wine bottle
The children sprinted through the wooded trails
Mud spattering across their legs and dress shoes
The others spun in circles, as if trapped in jewelry boxes
Their ankles dressed in pink ribbons
This was no place for innocence and imagination
But one of penance and prayer

He kept his toy cars and trains in a green metal box under his bed
It wasn't much, but they were his
Through them locking him in the closet for hours
And being told to not speak unless spoken to
The times of self expression, of emotion, feeling
Shamed and forced suppression - turned to repression
These cars and trains, they were his

Mental illness is a myth
Suicide is a mortal sin
We decide who you are
You cannot feel
Kneel down
Be quiet
Say your prayers
I'm writing a series about control. The ways in which people manipulate time, memories, feelings etc. as a means of determining and predicting what free-thinking individuals do/feel/say... All, supposedly, in the name of love or as a means to preemptively protect themselves from being subjected to the uncontrollable.
Poet X Jul 2019
and if the rules of the church
are the only way i'll get into
              "heaven"
well,
         to hell
                    with that .
Mark Wanless Sep 2019
i bow at the alter in
the church of imperfection
and pray softly here again
in storm of life confusion
the first line was the inspiration
This love is sanctifying me,
wines of ecstasy are pouring on my lips, injuring my soul with moaning,
I desire you only,
I desire the sweetness of our heavenly flavours from which the sun is melting and turning its gaze towards bottomless oceans,
let me drown my being in your absolute existence,
this shy soul of mine is giving fresh buds,
my tears are holy churches springing on Earth, where humble pilgrims search in quest for your graces and succour.
Kiss me in the church of Heaven, where deities fashion the faiths of humankind. My ruby heart now cracked in angel wings is melting on the lips of God. I am baptised in the sublime lips of divine wedding. My Lord, open the temple of Your abode and keep me from harm like jewels which are only found in Heavens. Sweet wine is poured on the edges of my hips; rose petals cry in the moon tapping.
nja Aug 2019
She worships you. Your sinful indulgence and all.
She laps up your grey blood
and nourishes her flab on your staleness.
On her weaknesses and confessions you elevate yourself.
Higher.
The altar cracks.
She darts to heel your splinter but her limbs are broken under the collapse.
Upset at her lack of agency and engrossed in prayer she drowns herself in her own tears unknowingly.
In the end your ***** amassed.
An unexpected end to a story of fatherly shepherding.
See not every story has a Noah and his Arc,
most end with the egotistical on the altar, and the saints martyred in the gutter.
Sacrifice is still bloodshed.
Criticisms of the Church.
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