By Leigh B. Evans
Christ, a cloaked enigma, known by the masses they claim to understand.
These followers clutch their cold steel when disagreement arises, yet when their errors bubble, they surrender to “it’s in His hands.”
Truth reveals their weakness,
Feeble as the frail words that fill their sacred tome.
Brittle pages, bereft of substance, only fit as kindling for me to spark and ignite cheap grass in high-school.
“Embrace religion,” they implore, “discover Jesus,” as if their savior were a metaphysical master of hide and seek, forever victorious.
“You must believe in something.” How those words slide slickly off their tongues, as oily as the phrase, “God needed another Angel.”
That’s the crux, these devotees of feeble deities forged by human minds, their essence lies in words, mere rhetoric sans action. Verbal games shape their fury, leading us to the darkest realm of their existence…An end.
The deathly stink resonates.
The dying creature they’ve transformed into flails and hisses, bleeding out in a secluded alley of their own creation. Not built with bricks and mortar, but crafted from hatred, malice, falsehoods, and sheer imbecility.
As time abandons them to their own devices, we will find solace as we collectively utter a resounding…
“God bless.”
Leigh’s Chaos 