Dear God
I know you are a crutch,
created by a scared species,
to make the dark nights warmer.
I know that millions of lives are spent,
in your name,
and of those other pray to.
I know people flock to buildings,
bruise their knees in abeisiance,
hoping for eternal life.
I know that millions fight for you,
thousands speak for you,
and none ever see you.
I know that the universe is vast,
complex and unknown,
but not created by you.
And yet,
it would be easy,
if I could clasp my hands together,
murmur words of needs longed for,
and recieve a miracle at my door.
Dear God,
If you had indeed been real:
Then the slavery of religion would disgust you,
your followers' grovelling would embarrass.
Teh demise of your word created,
would fire you into action.
To save us.
To guide us.
To teach us how to live.
In the absence of an allmighty,
all I see is a sentient species:
violent
greedy
hatefull
Bent of self-destruction.
There is no Divine in the **** of the infant girl.
