Atheists Under Attack
I was called a winter’s child by most people,
Who were in my life when I was a young child,
But I always saw myself as a summer bumpkin,
Sprung from spring as I was optimistic and mild.
Atheists were normally under attack in the seventies,
Disrespected, shoved and often actively demoralised,
Just for understanding life’s structures and paths,
Human dynamics and what should be prioritised.
I don’t think my parents understood ever at all,
That I had something sacred, something special to tell,
Could use their same linguistics, their same nouns,
To refer to the inner self and the exernal bell.
I understood resurrection to refer clearly to
The effect of a loved one who’d died thereafter,
That his life would continue in yours by your memory
That your behaviour would be down to their grafter.
The resurrection was the quick reply from followers
After their leader died, to the Roman authorities,
Who wanted to stop egalitarianism in medicine,
And maintain themselves as powerful superiorities.
I understood the incarnation to be an outright claim,
On the clergy, blooming and with good reputation,
That you could make when doing something new,
Something unexpected, different, for your initiation.
I understood salvation to mean that you’d changed,
That someone’d helped you ascend up a step, a gear,
And that Jesus’ salvation pertained to the sick, disabled,
Who existed in his time and to whom he did draw near.
I understood rebirth to just stand for a positivity
Which transcended upon the realisation of a truth
From an understanding of Jesus time and his life
That you’d learned from reading the Bible in a sleuth.
I mean, no god appears to you to play the lute,
And your dad doesn’t inject the knowledge,
There’s no divine revelation or sighting of god,
And your future insanity is only your privilege.
Rebirth in Jesus’ time just meant you had drive,
A reason to help all people, not just the rich,
To not ignore or avoid poor people’s doctors,
To not certify them with gossip in a stitch.
Theology did not phase me, nor did it concede,
A god who pre-existed humankind independently;
Nor did it articulate any emotion out with personality,
Any state, like hell, that couldn’t be defined intelligently.
My atheistic self is quite a flame as it is sweetly centred,
In a blissful relief from certain schizophrenic paranoia;
I have human values and believe wholeheartedly in people,
In their solidity, relationality and very beautiful aroma.
Copyright © Dominique Webb | Year Posted 2015
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