It has shamefully landed here and we stand between collecting the shattered parts of an immaculate truth shackled in devout steel. Can you see? Has your belief blinded you? Beneath the wailing and gnashing of your minds lie millions of rotting corpses, the heavy shroud of illusion, distended bellies of starvation, pools of savagely beaten women with despicable and pious vengeance, a scorched and failing planet, an immense corruption of flesh, insidious indoctrination of souls and the greed of god-fouled power! Look! See what this means? Stepping heavily now is this beast of conceit whose footprints seem familiar to us, we know them, we recognize their depraved pace, whose breath we imagine so sweet, arms outstretched and beckoning, and whose word brings us to fomenting murder, even a reckless and eyeless beast knows when it’s dying, and we stand between collecting the shattered parts of an immaculate truth shackled in devout steel. © 2010 by mark prime
(The Weaver's Song)