There is no 'caring' God, live with it.

Psychosis and Money

What is it then that makes them pray,
that makes them creep, crawl, all day,
that makes them read some silly script,
their pride, confidence, slyly stripped ?

What is it then that transfers their minds,
to heavens, angels, spiritual kinds,
to attend Cathedrals in little groups,
then dress in robes as elitist troops ?

What is it then that makes them build,
on fertile land where food was tilled,
huge Mosques; Cathedrals too,
just to sing, confess anew?

Does it help in anyway,
to wile away the hours of day,
dressed in best on their knees,
praying to anything, making pleas?

Is it selfishness that makes them think,
we all need them to cower, shrink,
on our behalf at their request,
so that our souls be sublimely blessed?

The whiff of selfishness stirs the air,
I think it’s just themselves they care,
the work is easy, less to think,
from competition they wilt, shrink.

This God they advocate with fuss,
when ask for proof they won’t discuss,
O proof, O proof; what for you need ?
the devils home you’ll go with speed.

My lucid mind begins to stir,
I’m in the hands of a blackmailer,
I only ask; for what your sales?
they came back as hard as nails.

So business then shall prevail,
In Woolworth’s by an honest sale,
the Church an inquisition I think,
proof of God surely brinks.
jobee -05