Join the Neopoet online poetry workshop and community to improve as a writer, meet fellow poets, and showcase your work. Sign up, submit your poetry, and get started.
Oct 15, 2009
⭐ View statistics (Premium feature)
The Church
not for me, the shout of hate
proclaimed as gospel
not for mine, the spew of judgement
shrieked as love from spittled lips
not for us, intolerance in
the guise of wisdom
mortal sins
all simmered in
the terror of the faithful
where deity insane burns innocence
with eternal fires of unforgiveness
while the fearful nod so merciless
agreeing to the filthiness
of murdering for faith
ours can never be the call to prayer
that sets the heart to foul deed
relished against all unbelievers
not for us the tremble of a maggot
knelt before a frowning god
of disaproval
for no being supreme demands the
blood of that which She creates
no Lord Of Dances ever hates
the precious glories that He makes
no god of love and mercies slakes
His thirst for vengeance
with unsuspecting innocence
our's is
the hookers on the corner
stamping in the cold
who laugh at offered help
then ask for it when others
are not looking
our's is
hunger overcome by generosity
and acceptance of a
man who loves a man
we are
the athiests and anarchists
who think that love is something
freely given,
not earned as payment for belief
mine is
the wiccan circle on samhain
chanting softly
for the paradigm shift of world change
to something as beautiful as peace
mine is
the pagans buying gifts for children
on the birthday of a god
that they do not believe in
mine is
the man who helps a victim
when others shrink away
the woman who lifts up the poor
from filth and denigration
so they can die with dignity
and mine is
those who simply think
the only thing God cares about
is whether you do good
proclaimed as gospel
not for mine, the spew of judgement
shrieked as love from spittled lips
not for us, intolerance in
the guise of wisdom
mortal sins
all simmered in
the terror of the faithful
where deity insane burns innocence
with eternal fires of unforgiveness
while the fearful nod so merciless
agreeing to the filthiness
of murdering for faith
ours can never be the call to prayer
that sets the heart to foul deed
relished against all unbelievers
not for us the tremble of a maggot
knelt before a frowning god
of disaproval
for no being supreme demands the
blood of that which She creates
no Lord Of Dances ever hates
the precious glories that He makes
no god of love and mercies slakes
His thirst for vengeance
with unsuspecting innocence
our's is
the hookers on the corner
stamping in the cold
who laugh at offered help
then ask for it when others
are not looking
our's is
hunger overcome by generosity
and acceptance of a
man who loves a man
we are
the athiests and anarchists
who think that love is something
freely given,
not earned as payment for belief
mine is
the wiccan circle on samhain
chanting softly
for the paradigm shift of world change
to something as beautiful as peace
mine is
the pagans buying gifts for children
on the birthday of a god
that they do not believe in
mine is
the man who helps a victim
when others shrink away
the woman who lifts up the poor
from filth and denigration
so they can die with dignity
and mine is
those who simply think
the only thing God cares about
is whether you do good
— Race_9togo, Oct 15, 2009
Share this poem
Critiques
Seren
16 years 7 months ago
Amen to that Jim … I was
Race_9togo
16 years 7 months ago
Hi Jayne
Candlewitch
16 years 7 months ago
hello
Race_9togo
16 years 7 months ago
Hi Cat
Rett
16 years 7 months ago
Hey Jim, Good write
Race_9togo
16 years 7 months ago
Thanks my friend,
themoonman
16 years 7 months ago
Jim...
Race_9togo
16 years 7 months ago
Hi Richard
seabhac
16 years 7 months ago
The title would have put me off
Race_9togo
16 years 7 months ago
Thanks Liz
deelilah
16 years 7 months ago
This is excellence
Race_9togo
16 years 7 months ago
Hi Deelilah