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Poem

in latter days people became discontent,
they turned and constructed graven images,
two were They, and on each was written a name,
and the name of the first was Liberation,
Convenience, His Son, at His right hand sitting,
and whatever cause the people took they did,
doing in the name of the Father and Son,

the courts of public opinion heard their case,
and awarded them all they ever wanted,
leaving nothing to the imagination,
they looked down from their seven hills upon this,
their only object to make all subjective,
and when they had finished they said, "it is good",

Their work being Holy done They sent the Ghost,
and His title was The Great Medicator,
He did intercede for those plagued by conscience,
to Him was given ministering spirits,
and they comforted all who asked distraction,
I could see further from atop the mountain,
and there on the horizon it was written,
how can self serving end in anything less,

inbreeding and intellectual incest,
Narcissus triumphant finds his century,
a nihilistic void for the new ages,
we are the children of a lesser facade,
if we are the product of that which we made,
from nothing comes nothing worth celebrating,
when the coin turns tails there is nothing to mourn

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