Never trust an absent father
who won’t pay his way,
show up on birthdays and holidays,
take some responsibility.
Look God, it’s just you, me
and the whole world now.
Time was, you could say,
“It’s not me, it’s Lucifer”
and we believed in you.
Poor bastards burned for you,
crazy monks beat each other,
syphilitic kings slaughtered,
old women and infants died,
all for your glory. You fat fraud.
All that got us was a history
to be ashamed of. And still
the big red guy walked free
if ever he was real,
which he wasn’t.
Of course it was you, dragged up
in red, silly pointy horns
on your head, a tail made from wire.
The inquisitors were your toys,
the sobs of the lonely, broken,
distraction from your boredom.
You stood by, invisible, remote,
did nothing but eat popcorn
while we swam in shit and piss.
Well fuck you God. We got
to the moon in spite of you,
broke into your DNA,
got clean and fought disease.
Of course we got lots wrong
but you’ve done wrong all along,
for after all, whose ideas
were death and suffering?
And still you, the epic fail,
want us to worship you, the king
of bombs and anti-abortionists,
haters and rampant procreators,
who live to stamp out difference
while torturing children in secret.
If they don’t speak and act for you,
smite them. You can do it.
A thunderbolt up the cassock,
a pox on paedophile priests.
Let Your Word Be Heard.
But you won’t, will you?
Not while we entertain you.
I’m through with these games of yours.
I’m leaving the board. I’m done.
What kind of divinity is afraid of love?