Maran Atha.

Septic souls encased in
brick, praying to dead
trees,
Heartless, pretend, good
in Godliness, dancing
bees.

Drones, in packs, convincing
empty words,
Feeding troughs, meaningless
babble, pointless, mindless
herds.

Slaughtering truth and
power through repeated
conviction,
Willingness, smiles, down
the line, feeding the
reflection.

Thirst, quenched with
intoxicating vibes leading
nowhere,
What's that?! Who are you?!
Oh look! Over there!
Lost in the works and words
of self-serving prayer.

Maran Atha! Where are
you?
Piece of wood? Turn the
stone? None of THAT is
true.

Cast away all, forget the
remembered and take
the fall,
Inside, outside, feel the
call,
It is a wonder that any
will know at all...
-END-
D.C. Chapman
04/05/2016