My God


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People — what have you done —
locked Him in His golden cage.
Made Him bend to your religion —
Him resurrected from the grave.
He is the god of nothing —
if that’s all that you can see.
You are the god of everything —
He’s inside you and me.
So lean upon Him gently
and don’t call on Him to save you
from your social graces
and the sins you used to waive.

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The bloody Church of England —
in chains of history —
requests your earthly presence at
the vicarage for tea.
And the graven image you-know-who —
with His plastic crucifix —
he’s got him fixed —
confuses me as to who and where and why —
as to how he gets his kicks.
Confessing to the endless sin —
the endless whining sounds.
You’ll be praying till next Thursday to
all the gods that you can count.

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~ by chikamaru777 on 7 September, 2007.

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