[Who sings me candied songs of afterlives]

Who sings me candied songs of afterlives
demands I now lie low in expectation –
bow down, await rewards where honour thrives –
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


      PS. (post sonnet – haha)
      those who seek The Divine
      will find it lives in a four-room place
      about half a block from their sternum




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