Believing all this - that this is all
there is, invites indulgences,
columns of fault pushing up
from the sweet, but false, sticky core.
No outer authority nor waiting reward,
no substance nor sustenance, no purpose
other than to plow and plod this earth
of sorrows outside the fettered gate,
gathering what fruit we may
and wild flowers to adorn the grave,
believing not in a singular love,
a favored eye; a stewardship,
a royal companion; ultimate
accounting and justice.
Believing not in God's Illusion
is to invest in mortal illusion.
To imagine God's Illusion is to have faith
in the precedence of Reality.
O child of God, the veils of this realm are flimsy,
fluttering loosely among the twisted limbs of faith.