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The God of The AtheistsWhat hope have you?
You who bend your knee at the altar of nihilism,
What pleasure reap you from the shattered frames, the memoirs of the divine?
With Darwin; your Father, Einstein your Son, and Marx as your Holy Ghost...
In fear, cower before the shadows. Kneel before an empty throne!
What good is faith?
So shake with indignation, tremble at the prospect of oblivion; the passing of light from darkness.
What good is assuredness?
Once blind, and now you're tethered.
Lest we see, you bend at the knee, worship in the isles of despond.
Unwilling and unable, forbidden to dream, to soar and fair forth.
And the Soul slips from you, and you, unable to maintain, fall back, screaming;
Like Woden hung from the Bough, you hang from your doubt, like Christ from the Cross, you from your self.
Scream for me, and tell me, what merit have you?
What heroes have you?
What legacy do you leave, colour for me your horror, our terror unmitigated?
Bow 'fore your idols, lecture on the pulpit, sermonise at the
[transmissions of a dead girl]i am the
moon: i am
the silver pill
to weigh down
into leaden eyes--
i am the
of the dark.
the stars are
all dead in their
you'll be safe, dear,
as i am the moon,
with all of your
(i am good bye and yet,
you think only of romantic
i am the moon.
i am the crescent
and dead altogether,
i still die.
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