I will never understand the lengths
that are achieved in order to
worship an invisible man.
Martyrs, in their finite wisdom,
kill themselves, condemn themselves,
for a faith that has been dead for years.
When the going gets rough,
we are all damned to this plane
as followers of something nonexistant.
Allright,you have no talent
your poem makes a lot of sence though
so maybe you do have talent
but im wishy washy what the hell do i know
im just a man
ron parrish