Digital art by Dean Hansen

by Dean Hansen

I don’t like Paul, I don’t like Greek,
Or people who with forked tongue speak,
I don’t like good news mixed with bad,
Or gibberish that makes me mad.

I don’t like freedom couched in shame,
Or Gods who threaten, warn or blame,
I don’t like being told I’m rotten,
In a language dead, but not forgotten.

I don’t like mercy mixed with wrath,
or thin and narrow joy-filled paths,
I don’t like violence, blood and gore,
Or plastic saints who scream for more.

I don’t like fiction labeled truth,
or eye for eye and tooth for tooth,
I don’t like giddy, drooling clowns,
Whose dogma weighs a thousand pounds.

I don’t like sweet talk bearing chains,
from muscle heads who have no brains,
I don’t like cripples bearing gifts,
Or drowning martyr’s sinking ships.

I don’t like hate disguised as love,
With fire raining from above,
Or gnashing teeth or beating breasts,
Or endless torments without rest.

So take this church you wish to save,
The one that looks just like a grave,
That’s crowded thick with age and rust,
Of endless lies and broken trust.

Abandon fear and stand up tall,
You are the building, you are the hall,
You are the arches, brick and stone
No architecture but the bone.

No place to be that isn’t you,
Contrived of secrets blazing,
No sacred, silent place apart,
Just you and me:  Amazing.


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