Religious Babel
It's a mystery I can't put my finger on.
A papercut under the skin.
Where has the truth gone?
Where did this world begin?
The pulpit reads the same script.
A chameleon's skin, in act.
Maybe the tower of Babel
gave us these lies acting fact.
Claiming truth in what suits us;
we organize, osteracize and gather.
Why would God design free will
if we can't dream, be free and scatter?
I believe the grand deception
is a self imposed hive mind.
God wrote his truth in the heart.
Not in a fiction book left behind.
The less I read, the more I listen.
The more I feel, I'm less imprisoned.
Preachers of peace drive the fission.
Eternity is not so envisioned.
Three thousand gods they say.
They demand you choose someone.
Atheists believe the same way.
You reject as many minus one.
We didn't leave language at the tower.
Something else happened that day.
Someone brought up religion.
Everyone argued and went another way.
They say God lives outside the box.
He's an artist without limit.
If I'm made in his image.
Acting the same makes no sense, does it?
Your version of the truth doesn't fit.
You have no right.
No proof that your version is legit.
Organizing the spiritual contradicts.
I'm being pulled while you push.
God speaks to each, differently.
Even if he speaks to you from a bush.
He left the choice to me.
He answers only in questions.
You don't have the authority
to force in specific directions.
So, put down your weapons
and meet me in the middle.
These are human problems.
Up to you and me to settle.
-Angel Fatale-
Copyright © Ryan Tyler | Year Posted 2017
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