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He was a man penned,
By instinctive needs,
To whisk away,
Dirty deeds.

The necessities of others,
Trumped what was,
Making headlines,
Out of quiet acts.

Into a text, 
He appeared,
From the text,
(h)e disappeared.

A lion he was,
Doubt it not,
Full of blood and fire,
Ready to grab his lot.

Sin was virtue,
Guilt was shame,
The man was hungry,
In want of a name.

The lamb came later,
Down gossip’s path,
Upon an alter,
History crossed.

The books,
With deliberate fancies,
Inverted the meaning 
Of time.

Meanwhile,
Blood became wine,
As castles rose,
To hail the divine.

For God’s sake!
The man was made of steel!
Not like superman,
But still a pretty big deal.

One reason,
He became the son,
Was that god,
Needed to be born.

What was the point of 
Laying down arms?
When the Romans came,
There were no other charms.

Ay, there’s the rub,
Machiavelli,
Outdated, outrun, out-stated,
By the donkey riding man.

Without faith,
Its all just a spoof,
With out doubt,
There’s no proof.

Before him,
Metaphors were magical,
After,
Merely logical.

Myth,
Is the shining example,
Of what you get,
When men dance and sing.

Religion,
Is the only way,
To get things right,
Some other day.

When the temple, 
Came crashing down,
Fate was sealed,
For money ruled the town.

His worshippers protested,
Not to budge,
If he did,
Some rocks they would indulge.

Not one to say no,
Believing in his flock,
He was surprised,
How they began to mock.


When the real story began,
The fake one ended,
Men of action,
Lost their main attraction.

The men with quills,
Who with great depth,
Expressed their wills,
Still whisper in the halls.

Who’s to say,
What it means,
When all is said and done,
Nothing is as it seems.

All hail and rise,
To this story that was devised,
By one god damn man,
Of art he was comprised.

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