These are heretical poems about Christian concepts such as heaven, hell and salvation. In the past I have published such poems under the heading "Heresy Hearsay."
Less Heroic Couplets: Funding Fundamentals
by Michael R. Burch
“I found out that I was a Christian for revenue only and I could not bear the thought of that, it was so ignoble.” — Mark Twain
Making sense from nonsense is quite sensible! Suppose
you’re running low on moolah, need some cash to paint your toes ...
Just invent a new religion; claim it saves lost souls from hell;
have the converts write you checks; take major debit cards as well;
take MasterCard and Visa and good-as-gold Amex;
hell, lend and charge them interest, whether payday loan or flex.
Thus out of perfect nonsense, glittery ores of this great mine,
you’ll earn an easy living and your toes will truly shine!
Originally published by Lighten Up Online
Well, Almost
by Michael R. Burch
All Christians say “Never again!”
to the inhumanity of men
(except when the object of phlegm
is a Palestinian).
Bible libel (ii)
by michael r. burch
ur savior’s a cad
—he’s as bad as his dad—
according to your horrible Bible.
demanding belief
or he’ll bring u to grief?
he’s worse than his horn-sprouting rival!
was the man ever good
before being made “god”?
if so, half your Bible is libel!
Here "being made god" can be read two ways. Jesus was a man "made god" but he was equated with Jehovah, a mythical being also "made god." This is a follow-up poem to my childhood poem "Bible Libel."
Star Crossed
by Michael R. Burch
Remember—
night is not like day;
the stars are closer than they seem ...
now, bending near, they seem to say
the morning sun was merely a dream
ember.
Is there any Light left?
by Michael R. Burch
Is there any light left?
Must we die bereft
of love and a reason for being?
Blind and unseeing,
rejecting and fleeing
our humanity, goat-hooved and cleft?
Is there any light left?
Must we die bereft
of love and a reason for living?
Blind, unforgiving,
unworthy of heaven
or this planet red, reeking and reft?
While “hoofed” is the more common spelling, I preferred “hooved” for this poem. Perhaps because of the contrast created by “love” and “hooved.”
faith(less)
by michael r. burch
for the “Chosen Few”
Those who believed
and Those who misled
lie together at last
in the same narrow bed
and if god loved Them more
for Their strange lack of doubt,
he kept it well hidden
till he snuffed Them out.
ah-men!
Habeas Corpus
by Michael R. Burch
from “Songs of the Antinatalist”
I have the results of your DNA analysis.
If you want to have children, this may induce paralysis.
I wish I had good news, but how can I lie?
Any offspring you have are guaranteed to die.
It wouldn’t be fair—I’m sure you’ll agree—
to sentence kids to death, so I’ll waive my fee.
Since time dawned
only the dead have experienced peace;
life is snow burning in the sun.
—Nandai, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Fahr an' Ice
by Michael R. Burch
for and after Robert Frost and Ogden Nash
From what I know of death, I'll side with those
who'd like to have a say in how it goes:
just make mine cool, cool rocks (twice drowned in likker),
and real fahr off, instead of quicker.
Housman was right ...
by Michael R. Burch
It's true that life’s not much to lose,
so why not hang out on a cloud?
It’s just the bon voyage is hard
and the objections loud.
Long Division
by Michael R. Burch
for and after Laura Riding Jackson
All things become one
Through death’s long division
And perfect precision.
Bittersight
by Michael R. Burch
for Abu al-Ala Al-Ma'arri
To be plagued with sight
in the Land of the Blind,
—to know birth is death
and that Death is kind—
is to be flogged like Eve
(stripped, sentenced and fined)
because evil is “good”
in some backwards mind.
Be very careful what you pray for!
by Michael R. Burch
Now that his T’s been depleted
the Saint is upset, feeling cheated.
His once-fiery lust?
Just a chemical bust:
no “devil” cast out or defeated.
The Heimlich Limerick
by Michael R. Burch
for T. M.
The sanest of poets once wrote:
"Friend, why be a sheep or a goat?
Why follow the leader
or be a blind breeder?"
But almost no one took note.
Grave Thoughts
by Michael R. Burch
as a poet i’m rather subVerse-ive;
as a writer i much prefer Curse-ive.
and why not be brave
on my way to the grave
since i doubt that i’ll end up reHearse-ive?
NOTE: “Subversive,” “cursive” and “rehearse-ive” are double entendres: subversive/below verse, cursive/curse, rehearsed/recited and re-hearsed (reincarnated to end up in a hearse again).
How happy the soul who speeds back to the Source,
but crowned with peace is the one who never came.
—a Sophoclean passage from the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
It’s a hundred times better not be born;
but if we cannot avoid the light,
the path of least harm is swiftly to return
to death’s eternal night!
Sophocles, Oedipus at Colonus, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Not to have been born is best,
and blessed
beyond the ability of words to express.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Never to be born may be the biggest boon of all.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Oblivion: What a boon, to lie unbound by pain!
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The happiest life is one empty of thought.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Consider no man happy till he lies dead, free of pain at last.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
What is worse than death? When death is desired but denied.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
When a man endures nothing but endless miseries, what is the use of hanging on day after day, edging closer and closer toward death? Anyone who warms his heart with the false glow of flickering hope is a wretch! The noble man should live with honor and die with honor. That's all that can be said. —Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Children anchor their mothers to life.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
How terrible, to see the truth when the truth brings only pain to the seer!
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Wisdom outweighs all the world's wealth.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Fortune never favors the faint-hearted.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Wait for evening to appreciate the day's splendor.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
We need evening to appreciate the day's attractions.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Evening helps us appreciate the day's attractions.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
For the gods have decreed that unfortunate mortals must suffer, while they themselves are sorrowless.
—Homer (circa 800 BC), Iliad 24.525-526, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
“It is best not to be born or, having been born, to pass on as swiftly as possible.”—attributed to Homer (circa 800 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
There is nothing so pointless, so perfidious as human life! ... The ultimate bliss is not to be born; otherwise we should speedily slip back into the original Nothingness.—Seneca, On Consolation to Marcia, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Unsurprisingly, narrow minds have trouble grasping larger subjects.
–Michael R. Burch
On a Betrothed Girl
by Erinna
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I sing of Baucis the bride.
Observing her tear-stained crypt
say this to Death who dwells underground:
"Thou art envious, O Death!"
Her vivid monument tells passers-by
of the bitter misfortune of Baucis —
how her father-in-law burned the poor girl on a pyre
lit by bright torches meant to light her marriage train home.
While thou, O Hymenaeus, transformed her harmonious bridal song into a chorus of wailing dirges.
Hymen! O Hymenaeus!
Keywords/Tags: Habeas Corpus, coronavirus, plague, birth, control, procreation, childbearing, child abuse, children, prognosis, suffering, pain, despair, death, climate change, extinction, antinatalist, antinatalism, contraception, contraceptives
A Passing Observation about Thinking Outside the Box
by Michael R. Burch
William Blake had no public, and yet he’s still read.
His critics are dead.
Blake Take
by Michael R. Burch
we became ashamed of our bodies;
we became ashamed of sweet sex;
we became ashamed of the LORD
with each terrible CURSE and HEX;
we became ashamed of the planet
(it’s such a slovenly hovel);
and we came to see, in the end,
that we really agreed with the devil.
tyger, lamb, free love, etc.
by michael r. burch
for and after william blake
the tiger’s a ferocious slayer.
he has no say in it.
hence, ur Creator’s a shit.
the lamb led to the slaughter
extends her neck to the block and bit.
she has no say in it.
so don’t be a nitwit:
drink, carouse and revel!
why obey the Devil?
yet another post-partum christmas blues poem
by michael r. burch
ur GAUD created hell; it’s called the earth;
HE mused u briefly, clods of little worth:
"let’s conjure some little monkeys
to be BIG RELIGION’s flunkeys!"
GAUD belched, went back to sleep, such was ur birth.
wee the many
by michael r. burch
wee never really lived: was that our fault?
now thanks to ur GAUD wee lie in an underground vault.
wee lie here, the little ones ur GAUD despised!
HE condemned us to death before wee opened our eyes!
as it was in the days of noah, it still remains:
GAUD kills us with floods he conjures from murderous rains.
Modern Dreams
by Michael R. Burch
after David B. Gosselin
I dreamed that God was good, but then I woke
and all his goodness vanished—poof!—
like smoke.
I dreamed his Word was good, but then I heard
commandments evil, awful, weird,
absurd.
I dreamed of Heaven where cruel Angels flew
above my head and screamed, the Chosen Few,
“We’re not like you!”
tyger, lamb, free love, etc.
by michael r. burch
for and after william blake
the tiger’s a ferocious slayer.
he has no say in it.
hence, ur Creator’s a shit.
the lamb led to the slaughter
extends her neck to the block and bit.
she has no say in it.
so don’t be a nitwit:
drink, carouse and revel!
why obey the Devil?
wild wild west-east-north-south-up-down
by michael r. burch
each day it resumes—the great struggle for survival.
the fiercer and more perilous the wrath,
the wilder and wickeder the weaponry,
the better the daily odds
(just don’t bet on the long term, or revival).
so ur luvable Gaud decreed, Theo-retically,
if indeed He exists
as ur Bible insists—
the Wildest and the Wickedest of all
with the brightest of creatures in thrall
(unless u
somehow got that bleary
Theo-ry
wrong too).
Prayer for a Merciful, Compassionate, etc., God to Murder His Creations Quickly & Painlessly, Rather than Slowly & Painfully
by Michael R. Burch
Lord, kill me fast and please do it quickly!
Please don’t leave me gassed, archaic and sickly!
Why render me mean, rude, wrinkly and prickly?
Lord, why procrastinate?
Lord, we all know you’re an expert killer!
Please, don’t leave me aging like Phyllis Diller!
Why torture me like some poor sap in a thriller?
God, grant me a gentler fate!
Lord, we all know you’re an expert at murder
like Abram—the wild-eyed demonic goat-herder
who’d slit his son’s throat without thought at your order.
Lord, why procrastinate?
Lord, we all know you’re a terrible sinner!
What did dull Japheth eat for his 300th dinner
after a year on the ark, growing thinner and thinner?
God, grant me a gentler fate!
Dear Lord, did the lion and tiger compete
for the last of the lambkin’s sweet, tender meat?
How did Noah preserve his fast-rotting wheat?
God, grant me a gentler fate!
Lord, why not be a merciful Prelate?
Do you really want me to detest, loathe and hate
the Father, the Son and their Ghostly Mate?
Lord, why procrastinate?
lust!
by michael r. burch
i was only a child
in a world dark and wild
seeking affection
in eyes mild
and in all my bright dreams
sweet love shimmered, beguiled ...
but the black-robed Priest
who called me the least
of all god’s creation
then spoke for the Beast:
He called my great passion a thing base, defiled!
He condemned me to hell,
the foul Ne’er-Do-Well,
for the sake of the copper
His Pig-Snout could smell
in the purse of my mother,
“the whore jezebel.”
my sweet passions condemned
by degenerate men?
and she so devout
she exclaimed, “yay, aye-men!” ...
together we learned why Religion is hell.
Published by Lucid Rhythms, The HyperTexts and Black Waters of Melancholy
The Shrinking Season
by Michael R. Burch
With every wearying year
the weight of the winter grows
and while the schoolgirl outgrows
her clothes,
the widow disappears
in hers.
Published by Angle, Poem Today (featured poem), Heartfelt Death Poems, Girls and Goblins and Madly Jane
Whose Woods
by Michael R. Burch
apologies to Robert Frost
Whose woods these are, I think I know.
Dick Cheney’s in the White House, though.
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his chip mills overflow.
My sterile horse must think it queer
To stop without a ’skeeter near
Beside this softly glowing “lake”
Of six-limbed frogs gone nuclear.
He gives his hairless tail a shake;
I fear he’s made his last mistake—
He took a sip of water blue
(Blue-slicked with oil and HazMat waste).
Get out your wallets; Dick’s not through—
Enron’s defunct, the bill comes due . . .
Which he will send to me, and you.
Which he will send to me, and you.
Published by The Chariton Review
Post-Nashville Covenant
by Michael R. Burch
We love our God.
We love our guns.
We despise the weak.
Don’t call us Huns!
We love our kids.
We love our schools.
We love our guns.
Don’t call us fools!
We pledge ourselves
to the strong defense
of the Constitution
and our Mensch.
Once re-elected,
Trump will rule
with God and guns
and safer schools.
Wonderworks
by Michael R. Burch
History’s
mysteries
abound
& astound,
found
(profound)
the whole earth ’round,
even if mostly
underground.
uv been had
by michael r. burch
uv been had;
ur Dad’s a cad;
His priests are mad,
His pastors lying.
they only want your money, chum,
so why play dumb
and give it to ’em?
give them the boot and send them flying!
Come Spring
by Michael R. Burch
for the Religious Right
Come spring we return, innocent and hopeful, to the Virgin,
beseeching Her to bestow
Her blessings upon us.
Pitiable sinners, we bow before Her,
nay, grovel,
as She looms above us, aglow
in Her Purity.
We know
all will change in an instant; therefore
in the morning we will call her,
an untouched maiden no more,
“whore.”
The so-called Religious Right prizes virginity in women and damns them for doing what men do. I have long been a fan of women like Tallulah Bankhead, Marilyn Monroe and Mae West, who decided what’s good for the gander is equally good for the goose.
sonnet to non-science and nonsense
by michael r. burch
ur Gaud is a fiasco,
a rapscallion and a rascal;
he murdered lovely eve,
so what’s there to "believe"?
and who made eve so curious?
why should ur Gaud be furious
when every half-wit parent knows
where our kids will stick their (k)no(w)'s(e)!
no wise and loving father
would slaughter his own daughter!
ur Gaud's a hole-y terror!
CONSIDER THE SOURCE OF ERROR:
though ur bible’s a giant hit,
its writers were full of shit.
twin nuggets of ancient whiz-dumb
by michael r. burch
oh, let it never once be said
that love for Gaud is dead!
wee love the way he murdered eve!
such awesome love! wee must believe!
wee love the way he sent a FLOOD
to teach wee babies to be good!
wee love the zillion births he aborted!
such awesome love cant clearly reported!
(so never mind the embryos
who died in their mommies’ drowning throes!
the unborn babes, the unborn lambs
all drowned for Gaud’s divinest plans!)
“do as I say, not as I do!”
cruel Hippo-Crit! does Jesus rue?
(if Christ were good he’d rue Gaud too.)
no! wee must love our abusive Father
and follow hymn meekly, mild lambs to the slaughter,
or he’ll burn us forever in Hiss terrible hell.
it’s so much safer to tell hymn he’s swell!
thus wee love our Gaud so loverly
hovering over us so smotherly!
wee love the TITHES his cons abscond.
wee love the Big Fish in Hiss pond.
And so wee say “whee!” to all this and that!
PS, also the earth is flat!
Why do faith, hope and love
always end up PUSH and SHOVE?
—Michael R. Burch, lines from “Christ, Jesus!”
Yet another Screed against Exist-Tension-alism
by Michael R. Burch
Life has meaning!
Please don’t deny it!
It means we’re fucked.
Why cause a riot?
Evangelical Fever
by Michael R. Burch
Welcome to global warming:
temperature 109.
You believe in God, not in science,
but isn’t the weather Divine?
Peers
by Michael R. Burch
These thoughts are alien, as through green slime
smeared on some lab tech’s brilliant slide, I grope,
positioning my bright oscilloscope
for better vantage, though I cannot see,
but only peer, as small things disappear—
these quanta strange as men, as passing queer.
And you, Great Scientist, are you the One,
or just an intern, necktie half undone,
white sleeves rolled up, thick documents in hand
(dense manuals you don’t quite understand),
exposing me, perhaps, to too much Light?
Or do I escape your notice, quick and bright?
Perhaps we wield the same dull Instrument
(and yet the Thesis will be Eloquent!).
The Final Revelation of a Departed God’s Divine Plan
by Michael R. Burch
Here I am, talking to myself again . . .
pissed off at God and bored with humanity.
These insectile mortals keep testing my sanity!
Still, I remember when . . .
planting odd notions, dark inklings of vanity,
in their peapod heads might elicit an inanity
worth a chuckle or two.
Philosophers, poets . . . how they all made me laugh!
The things they dreamed up! Sly Odysseus’s raft;
Plato’s Republic; Dante’s strange crew;
Shakespeare’s Othello, mad Hamlet, Macbeth;
Cervantes’ Quixote; fat, funny Falstaff!;
Blake’s shimmering visions. Those days, though, are through . . .
for, puling and tedious, their “poets” now seem
content to write, but not to dream,
and they fill the world with their pale derision
of things they completely fail to understand.
Now, since God has long fled, I am here, in command,
reading this crap. Earth is Hell. We’re all damned.
The King of Beasts in the Museum of the Extinct
by Michael R. Burch
The king of beasts, my child,
was terrible, and wild.
His roaring shook the earth
till the feeble cursed his birth.
And all things feared his might:
even rhinos fled, in fright.
Now here these bones attest
to what the brute did best
and the pain he caused his prey
when he hunted in his day.
For he slew them just for sport
till his own pride was cut short
with a mushrooming cloud and wild thunder;
Exhibit "B" will reveal his blunder.
God to Man, Contra Bataan
by Michael R. Burch
Earth, what-d’ya make of global warming?
Perth is endangered, the high seas storming.
Now all my creatures, from maggot to man
Know how it felt on the march to Bataan.
The Less-Than-Divine Results of My Prayers to be Saved from Televangelists
by Michael R. Burch
I’m old,
no longer bold,
just cold,
and (truth be told),
been bought and sold,
rolled
by the wolves and the lambs in the fold.
Who’s to be told
by this worn-out scold?
The complaint department is always on hold.
sonnet to non-science and nonsense
by michael r. burch
ur Gaud is a fiasco,
a rapscallion and a rascal;
he murdered lovely eve,
so what’s there to "believe"?
and who made eve so curious?
why should ur Gaud be furious
when every half-wit parent knows
where our kids will stick their (k)no(w)'s(e)!
no wise and loving father
would slaughter his own daughter!
ur Gaud's a hole-y terror!
CONSIDER THE SOURCE OF ERROR:
though ur bible’s a giant hit,
its writers were full of shit.
Heaven Bent
by Michael R. Burch
This life is hell; it can get no worse.
Summon the coroner, the casket, the hearse!
But I’m upwardly mobile. How the hell can I know?
I can only go up; I’m already below!
“Heaven Bent” is a pun on “being bent on Heaven” and the heaven/hell thing being bent into a different version, with the dying escaping hell here on earth. That would make death “heaven” even if there is no afterlife. “This life is hell,” “upwardly mobile” and “how the hell” are also puns that can be read two ways. I wrote this poem in high school, around age 16 in 1974, but was unhappy with the third line and forgot about the poem. I stumbled upon it on on July 4, 2006 —ironically, Independence Day — and the third line occurred to me.
The beauty of the flower fades,
its petals wither to charades...
—Michael R. Burch
the U-turn poem
by michael r. burch
Life so defaulty,
Life so unfair,
why do wee prize U,
what do U care?
LORD who lets unborns
drown in a flood,
CELESTIAL ABORTIONIST,
r U sure Ur understood?
Hellion
by michael r. burch
cold as stone,
cold to the bone,
so cold inside even icebergs moan,
such is ur Gaud on hiss icy throne.
lines written for a luverly Gaud who cant be bothered to save pisspot peeple who guess wrong about which ire-ational re-ligion to believe.
“Hellion” is a pun on “he-lion” as in the “Lion of Judah” and “hell-lion.”
yet another ode to a graceless faceless Creator albeit with thoughts of possibly rescinding prior compliments
by michael r. burch
who created this graceless universe?
why praise its Creator? who could be worse?
why praise man’s Berater with obsequious verse?
job’s wife was right: he’s nobody’s nurse.
ur-Gent prayer request
by michael r. burch
where did ur Gaud originate?
in the minds of men so full of hate
they commanded moms to stone their kids,
which u believe (brains on the skids)
was “the word of Gaud”!
debate?
too late & of course it’s useless:
please pray to be less clueless.
The title involves a pun, since the “ur-Gent” would be the biblical “god.”
Religion is regarded by fools as true, by the wise as false, and by rulers as useful. — Seneca, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Non-Word to the Wise
by Michael R. Burch
The wise will never cry, “Save!”
The wise desire a quiet grave.
sonnet to non-science and nonsense/nunsense
by michael r. burch
ur Gaud is a fiasco,
a rapscallion and a rascal;
he murdered lovely eve,
so what’s there to “believe”?
and who made eve so curious?
why should ur Gaud be furious
when every half-wit parent knows
where bright kids will stick their no’s(e)!
no wise and loving father
would slaughter his own daughter!
ur Gaud’s a hole-y terror!
CONSIDER THE SOURCE OF ERROR:
though ur bible’s a giant hit,
its writers were full of shit.
We Know It All
by Michael R. Burch
We rile. We gall. We know it all
because we’ve read the Bible,
which tells us genocide’s “God’s will”
along with bashing in kids’ skulls
and other forms of libel.
The earth is flat, our Book says so!
The Lord will torture our rational foe!
(We lack the compassion to tell the fiend “No!”)
God’s on his throne, the Angels are winking,
applauding our lack of critical thinking.
We’re drowning in crap. We’re stinking and sinking.
Eve once petted friendly T-Rexes!
A “witch” should be stoned for unprovable hexes!
It’s a “sin” to make love if one’s lover has exes!
Girls were enslaved and raped by their “masters”!
Our Book is the source of so many disasters!
The earth’s overheating? Let’s burn it up faster!
Yet Another Shitty Ditty
by Michael R. Burch
Here’s my ditty:
Life is shitty,
Then you get old
And more’s the pity.
Truth be told,
We’re bought and sold,
Sheep in the fold
Sheared lickety-splitty.
But chin’s up,
What’s the use of crying?
We’ve a certain escape:
Welcome to dying!
Hellbound
by Michael R. Burch
Mother, it’s dark
and you never did love me
because you put Yahweh and Yeshu
above me.
Did they ever love you
or cling to you? No.
Now Mother, it’s cold
and I fear for my soul.
Mother, they say
you will leave me and go
to some compassionless “heaven”
I never shall know.
If that’s your choice,
you made it. Not me.
You brought me to life;
will you nail me to the tree?
Christ! Mother, they say
God condemned me to hell.
If the Devil’s your God
then farewell, farewell!
Or if there is Love
in some other dimension,
let’s reconcile there
and forget such cruel detention.
Lines for My Ascension
by Michael R. Burch
I.
If I should die,
there will come a Doom,
and the sky will darken
to the deepest Gloom.
*But if my body
should not be found,
never think of me
in the cold ground.*
II.
If I should die,
let no mortal say,
“Here was a man,
with feet of clay,
or a timid sparrow
God’s hand let fall.”
But watch the sky darken
to an eerie pall
and know that my Spirit,
unvanquished, broods,
and scoffs at quaint churchyards
littered with roods.
*And if my body
should not be found,
never think of me
in the cold ground.*
III.
If I should die,
let no man adore
his incompetent Maker:
Zeus, Yahweh, or Thor.
Think of *Me* as the One
who never died—
the unvanquished Immortal
with the unriven side.
*And if my body
should not be found,
never think of me
in the cold ground.*
IV.
And if I should “die,”
though the clouds grow dark
as fierce lightnings rend
this bleak asteroid, stark ...
If you look above,
you will see a bright Sign—
the sun with the moon
in its arms, Divine.
So divine, if you can,
my bright meaning, and know—
my Spirit is mine.
I will go where I go.
*And if my body
should not be found,
never think of me
in the cold ground.*
Keywords/Tags: heresy, heretical, Christian, Christianity, atheist, agnostic, god, love, faith, belief, evolution, coronavirus, plague, death, snuffed out, bible, heaven, hell, bloody sacrifice, salvation, grave, crypt, cryptic, antinatalist, antinatalism
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