Becoming The Muse

My Epiphany

Prisoners of faith,
in this jail of religion,
a congregation full of zealots,  blind yet passionate,
mind controlled by the morally corrupt,
led astray by the spiritually bankrupt,
souls bought and sold for dreams untold,
lies and bold mistruthsas the stories unfold.
Gimmicks and cheap tricks designed as miracles,
By crooked apostles,
preaching prosperity gospels,
the tithe bandits whose intentions seem noble,
Yet their inflated egos,
Expose hypocritical reverends revering false idols,
colonial overlords distorting the message.
And yet the blessed meek,
Wait patiently for blessings they seek,
To inherit the ashes of their rubbled inheritance.
Born and then reborn,
Him who sinned sin no more,
Lest the final judgement,
find you in want of weight and measurement,
Iniquity in your immortal soul,
everlasting punishment,
Only true repentance makes you whole.
We are told not to doubt God,  his was mysterious,
But I question everything always curious,
I wish he would come down from above and give his revelations,
Not misled by your misinterpretations,
Though I know he doesn’t owe me any explanations,
I may not understand the finer workings of electricity,
But I will not live in a dark world for lack of understanding,
The light in this dark undertaking,
So yes I believe,
In the unseen because I can’t conceive
A world,
A world in which,
He stopped believing in me.