I stopped praying the day,
They thanked my sins.
I felt like a hero,
Felt like the Messiah.
Felt like the world was down trodden.
I could ever care less.
But I still cared.
Not for Him who supposedly,
Made us, for we were made once.
For those who He made, and were then forgotten.
I stole some bread, some sugar and wine.
They thanked my sins, and wished me luck.
What else could I need,
In a world, where mine,
And yours,
Is nothing.
It would be nothing.
Unless you give us a name.
Or call us,
An atheist.
~:ZG:~
YOU ARE READING
Yin and Yang
Poetry"Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen." ― Leonardo da Vinci "Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the...
