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Brian Buttlicker Dec 2020
This is a death march, don't be naive
Worthless shepherd to your little sheep
It seems to me we're all truly blind
Let's all believe neglect is divine

A cold and lonely corpse is all you will leave
What else could you possibly believe
None of us will ever find
A way to fight this cruel timeline

Baffled by what you hope to receive
For if God is real he's left us behind
Or at least he's taken what's mine
And I watch my life in the sieve

Don't let yourself be deceived
What you believe
Betrays your selfish greed and endless need

To get oblivion out of your mind
He is clearly unkind
And laughs to himself as we bleed

Cast away as you cast a line
These misled, pathetic, malign
Faiths of humankind
That have never failed to bind
The mask, the blind

And still we can't see
The evil sewn into his design
Shake my fist to the sky
Beg, plead, pray for ease
And weep quietly, "please"

For all of my want
I've still seen not a lot
And your god that turned his back on you,
And your entire faith
Is ignoring me too

I refuse to accept
My loving creator has crept
Into my heart just to make it seize.
So I scream
And I scream
And I still see no reprieve.

This is my challenge
Which will not be met
To prove my point
Let's commit a sin, let's bet.

If there is a God, then that would mean that this is his plan. If that is truly our creator, then I reject him, and judge him as he would judge me.

Sacrilege. Heresy. Smite me, almighty smiter. I have thrown down the gauntlet. You have no sons, no daughters, no apostles, no martyrs.

You have only slaves. And I will not accept the original tyrant as my saviour. I rail at the notion. Perhaps Lucifer had a point.
If this offends you, I only mean to be honest, and express my frustration at the justifications brought forth by religions that maintain that this is in some way our fault.
Lilith Oct 2020
I have found God on my knees,
read scriptures along your lifelines.
I sang your praises into my hardwood floor,
memorizing every note as they fell from my lips.
Hold me close and make me believe in a deity I can only see by starlight.

Our bible is not written in ink.
It is a roadmap of purples and blues scattered along my collarbones,
parables of passion bruised into my hips.
I will give you this body
if you will show me divinity until the glints of morning touch this church of hollow promises and hot breath.

I will murmur my sins into your skin
until the morning makes us mortal again.
But for tonight
make me your disciple,
let me drink you in like sweet ambrosia
until I am sure that the stars spell your name.
For tonight,
make me absolute.
Alek Mielnikow Mar 2019
I don’t often act against the wishes
of the Gods (tough to beat they are).
​But when as captivating a woman,
​she who beckons me far from my senses,
asks me to break from my heritage,
​I gladly fill the role of the heretic.



-
Aleksander Mielnikow
@alekthepoet
I wrote this poem with a specific woman in mind. I'm not going to reveal who she was, so really, there's no point in me writing this note, or you reading it. But, I did, you did, and it's the truth.
The pantheon of misplaced fears,
Whose walls were built on oppressed tears,
Has been well-guarded through the years,
Hiding from curious man’s ears.

There is no faith that threatens fears,
Afflicting the weakest with tears,
No faith like that withstands the years,
Silent in curious man’s ears.

Unchallenged faith the true faith fears,
To give compassion through the tears,
Where questions repeat through the years,
Faith needs curious eyes and ears.

The curious confront faith’s fears,
The curious fight through faith’s tears,
The curious give faithful years,
The curious give faith their ears.
Instagram @insightshurt
Blogging at www.insightshurt.com
Buy “Insights Hurt: Bringing Healing Thoughts To Life” at store.bookbaby.com/book/insights-hurt
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
"Why, you know's a spoken spell, a prayer for reason",
The magician said,

"I wanna think God's thoughts", and Mr. Newton, Issac said,
"After him". I stood the queue, knowing why, I kept silent.

Fundamental heretic is what I am.
Jesus was such a heretic. Ask any Pharisee.

Evaluation and appraisal, worship and praise,
who told you to do that? A shepherd kid?

A lonely boy under the stars in a peaceful valley,
beside still waters. Like Bob Dylan at twelve. Singin' along.

Worthy, so worthy, sang the boy, never knowing the role of
y after worth in setting the appraising price or prize

What's it worth to know death has no sting? A song?
Then sing, soft, don't wake the dead.
Snap. Why?
Andie Feb 2018
If a poet and a photographer fall for each other,
do they make art or love?
A wordsmith in opposition with reality, submerging into the abstractions of thought and emotion, time and space; smashing into a chronometer, yet more, one who freezes time and space, thought and emotion, in one glimmer worth more than anything discernable. What do they make together?
And a dancer and a pianist?
That’s even more disparate than the prior!
Broken bodies contorting within every imaginable plane, expressing hidden universal truths kept deep within their fluid forms. Warped feet or warped hands. Once the creator, now reduced to used. An ivory river sparkled with ebony, with which splashes and ripples could rip the hearts of men, fallen to nothing.
In the grey folds of the mind, we find worse and worse combinations, abnormalities shaping from shattered thoughts and twisted fantasies: a girl and a girl, a boy and a boy, two humans bound by the things they love. One of the infinite being the other. Impossible
for him
Joshua S Bailey Feb 2017
There's a lady in the morning fog
who feeds on porcelain thoughts,
And she haunts the edges March.
There are no five point dancers
With their evening red and gold.
Ready and willing to tumble and fall.
Just her, alone; In the bog
listening to us all.

The beasts only swim, crawl, and fly
By the Sycamore, rotten and petrified.
In Death there is life
And all ears are amplified.

     "Testify."

"Are you the soul that brings fear?
The Specter of my own Heresy?
Get off the wind and answer me.
Will you light the wild and chant the Lord's Prayer?"

    
    "Through all my inequities I'll never
      know sin like you.
      Whip the poor and condemn the youth.
      Blame the ******!!!
      Clergymen tend to always do.


"We are justified!

To do what we do
Is the work of the lord!
Truth will always bend
To the ambassadors' works."


The feast is for the thin, chalked with divine
And those on shore: honest and rectified.
Breath is man's plight,
And all eyes lie.

There's a man waiting at the edge of dawn
Who purges a man of his own thoughts
He owns his defiled marsh.
There are no five point answers
Without their threaded holes
Steadily fulfilling to us all.
Just him, enthroned; on a rock
Judging us as we fall.
Brent Kincaid Dec 2016
I’m dreaming of a White Christmas
With not one foreigner you know;
Where the people speaking
Like good Americans
The rest should get on planes and go.

The best Christmas is a Lily White One.
With stuff that Jesus understood;
Like Santa’s reindeers
And trees with tinsel
And toys not one made of wood.

I’m screaming for a White Christmas
So shove that crap that Christ’s a Jew!
Go and burn in hellfire with you!
And my best Christmas wish comes true.
This is not quite the Christmas I grew up with, but it was out there waiting in the wings. Well, it's here now!
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