"apostates" poems
Apostles and their apostates
Murderers unrepentant and
Mere manslaughters' mistakes
Epistles, that evokes the language of religious ritual
Selective honesty, Deeply and creepily
You want to be a doctor, therapist and priest
You are none of these things, as if these positions
Actually help people. They are stations presumably
Of some importance = stature, status, strength
Donning a standing
Polby Saves
Copyright © 2011
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 4:21 PM UTC
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.
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 4:44 PM UTC
At Etemenanki, the bell has rung
Echoing into the dark desert night
Apostates speaking the Adamic tongue
Though the sky is old, the earth is still young
And the world is still full of love and light
At Etemenanki, the bell has rung
Free the prisoners who have not yet hung
For even the ****** could never indict
Apostates speaking the Adamic tongue
Every voice cries out, every song is sung
While the jealous one looks on at this slight
At Etemenanki, the bell has rung
And from the ziggurat, his hand has flung
(As they all protest and declaim his might)
Apostates speaking the Adamic tongue
The crowd babbles and speaks and shouts among
Themselves, but none meet with any insight
At Etemenanki, the bell has rung
Apostates speaking the Adamic tongue
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 6:53 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
See those who would build a Califate
Based on a dogma of pure hate
Can’t be Muslims as they state
So Muslims don’t participate
But once that is what they’ve decided
Only those who are misguided
Could tolerate or abide it
‘Cos they’re apostates who deny it
When we look at their ravages
We have to call them low-life savages
Their track record on the average is
To multiply their destructive damages
And Islam is a poor excuse
For their unique kind of abuse
Where are the good deeds they produce
That can’t be found they’re of no use
Isis can’t build an Islamic state
Because true Muslims can’t relate
To the things that they dictate
The Mumeenun won’t bite the bait
Their leader is a mad man
Who clearly doesn’t read Qu’ran
So diabolical is his plan
And wanton ****** has become his brand
Read the Qu’ran follow the sunnah
Of Prophet Muhammad ibn Abdullah
Not the dictates of a crazy mullah
Who like Shaytan is there to fool ya
Because that’s who al-Bagdadi is
A charlatan for sure square biz
Who couldn’t pass an Islamic quiz
Now that I’ve said it, there it is
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2015. All rights reserved.
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 3:44 PM UTC
The fraud bourgeoisie
mobsters and hoods contract
chiller cinema screening terror vision
gutter psychology of the henchmen dopes
presenting the locusts and ants thriller invasion
the throngs underfed
issuing permits and warrants
reprobates, thugs and con-artists do apply
at the Bastille on the Victorian embankment
bring your disorders of crimson and singe the blues
The zen mentalist of Zenda dribbles rut
the guillotine feeders sharpen dirges blades
pale cowards party in full swing and checks abound
call the pirates of red sea and the mob to share the spoils
no coronation for a sun king a jealous mandate thus declared
the pepper-less hordes of lames
find El Dorado in a mirage in lies of bandits
Scipio Africanus in great and graceful throes incarnate
made thousands ploys and cuts anthems of craven imbeciles
wayward profligates who mired their obsolesces in parable David
And he stood a Colossus edified
braving contract of thieves, ghouls, thugs and recreants
apostates of truths, corrupters of the just pilgrims' progress
burn in shame, reveling in asinine boast of personal fallibility
requiem for dregs, requiem for the humanization of the toxic heathens
Sep 8, 2019
Sep 8, 2019 at 5:27 AM UTC
Tis blood and fury
and for its cause
you would build a wall
and construct more bombs
to **** more kids,
to destroy more lives,
and never stop
While acquiring the disguise
to protect you from
the consequences
of your profit driven life.
Tis pain and sorrow
that you built
brick by clay brick
fire by fire
not in a kiln,
but in the hateful decree
of your religious immorality
setting stranger against stranger
calling those who revolt
heretics, blasphemers,
or apostates,
while claiming hate
is equal to love.
Tis my tears and rage
as I push my face
into my pillow case
to scream
because you do not listen to me
and slowly my humanity
turns towards wrath.
I stray, walking away
from my old forgiveness
and redemption days
and fantasizing about
your gruesome demise.
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 12:05 PM UTC
You might recall the glorydays
Converting heathens by the sword
Burning apostates
Enriching Abrahams horde
Forging empires by the dusin
Make the world your *****
They shall decay
Like the white christs corpse
Gone is all you took
The world shall be free at last
In the halls of the fallen
Can you hear a new song play?
A song of heroes comes from the hall
Vallhalla is open once more
A feast awaits the heroes
The old Gods are ready for war
Prepare your pyres
Though the martyrs won't cry in pain
Avenge the burnt blood of witches
They never died in vain
Swordmaidens and shieldbrothers
Lets draw the battle lines again
Or legend shall shape the future
As we reclaim the world
So stand before me host of angels
For now the valkyries decend
The druids emerge from the forest
Are you prepared for the end?
Aug 19, 2019
Aug 19, 2019 at 9:52 AM UTC