The Art of the spoken word
Is east
Jerusalem
Ornate
Probate of the money lenders
Who tender purity and security
For a price
Gods children are willing to pay
Because they are the sheep
On which the idol's seek
Prohibition
The body and the blood
Never knowingly
Roots are tales
Into the afterlives
Slave's integrate
At the table of former master's
Free at last
Free at last
If only my children could see me now
It would all be worth while
My Child
Your mysticism captivates my world today
Covered in gold and ruins
We try to decode
What you left behind for us so long
Its been five thousand years
And we still feel so lost without you
Let your sun god Ra
Show us the path you took
The pyramids were the keys to your afterlives
Show us how to live our lives
I live in a world covered in blame
With people constantly finding someone else to blame
No boy king in Tut in our day
No Cleopatra ruling any day
Just a lot of villains called politicians
Oh great Egyptian Pharaohs
Show us how you brought prosperity and peace
To your once unstable land
it seems unfair to me sometimes
that life has to end.
i hold you in my sight
paused in motion
refusing to forget the patterns of your face
youth only fades
yet noone wants to fathom
what age portrays
watching you now, at age 22,
your ceaseless movements
both delicate and benign,
you are locked in with a click like a mechanism
implanted within my shaking mind.
anchored in my thoughts
afraid i may lose sight,
dreading what is inevitably to come,
our ancient human rite.
what is it we have really
but phases full of longing,
short lifetimes of solitude,
then subsequent terms of bliss
it seems strange to say that i am not sorry
for little secret moments such as this.
i will not apologize
for having lived and hoping to live long
nor argue choice or afterlives
or hear you claim im wrong.
it seems we believe in nothing more
than dirt and cold and brine
i believe in the simple glory of your hands
large and gregarious inside my small ones,
eternity proven,
entwined.
Atheism's beauty is newly welcoming.
Beliefs of God dissipating, fastly waning.
My morals mocked, trashed, disregarded around me.
I remain lost, unseen - For God is a lazy, scientific flee.
Religion has mystified me in its paradox of no evidence.
So instead I cherish life's priceless joys: keys to brilliance.
Dependent on the now, dependent on myself.
My laughter eliminates agony, and I sustain my health.
Each day that grants good spirits is the one Heaven I am sure of.
Afterlives are the fool's gamble, but the wise make life enough.
I inherit success, wealth - personal peace, for I am bravely tough.
Fools need fear to do good, but the wise need no hell or biblical reads.
I live true Atheism: my actions reward each healthy night of sleep.
Only in my death shall I lose my religion - The belief that my one life is worth living.
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