Who sings me songs of candied afterlives
demands I now lie low in expectation –
bow down, await rewards, endure the gyves
shut up, mark time, be meek for the duration –
feel sin and guilt, fear God And All His Might –
some super spook who no one’s seen at all
unless quite daft or higher than a kite
or steeped in myths of Eve and Adam’s Fall.
A Book that offers just itself for proof
is like a dog that chases his own tail.
Religion from religion stands aloof,
leaves little room for justice to prevail.
Those Fathers Up Above are worse than crooks
No Source of All is bound in any books
If you fancy sonnets and formal poetry in general,
you might enjoy another of my sites…