A Prophet

Walking down his right-hand path next to the ruins of the human soul one sees his only flesh, blood-martyr, seated at the right hand of shit All his grave forgotten, all his light obscured by the hands of those who would turn love into extortion and peace into chains Myth of endless love turned into fear of endless death God is not here, not in this hole, not in this world now meaningless A priesthood born out of deception and greed, a system of worship forged out of stolen vision – the vulgar, convinced the gods had ordered it so Thus man forgot that all gods are borne of him Worse than death, is bondage “I must create a system or be enslav’d by another man’s.” Pale faced victims of empty lies, their hearts empty vessels Desire restrained long enough ceases to desire Worse than death, is bondage