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The Gods Must Be Crazy

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A poem about why being a martyr sucks.

Bound by the bane of freedom
And delivered to martyrdom…

God looks down upon me in pity;
Intoxicating promises of his heavenly city:

A veritable paradise forged from my desire,
Choked by weeds of lies and forgotten in a mire.

Devotion and sacrifice left me in a rut,
And I crawl back to a world of smut.

Crafted from flesh so meek and mild,
My faith is a stillborn child.

Disillusioned by the conflict in my head,
From my pores, decades of repentance bled.

Justified along my brethren, mounted on stakes;
I will not crack, no matter how my body quakes.

In my throes, I beheld the kingdom of God…
Rotting far away from his love, I yet laud.

I’m still a heap of flesh and bone
Singing the psalms of a blinded drone.

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