Suicide, Virgins And Tomes

By Author Unknown

How foolish to believe that suicide leads,
To virgins and heaven and feasts.

How foolish to think you have god's validation,
To murder any of his creation.

How foolish to swear that in creator's name,
You with gun, peace proclaim.

How foolish to imagine that your creator,
Thinks only your way is the divine separator.

How foolish to follow so many directions,
When if you peer past man's inflections,
You will find the questions came much later,
That when you were young, you knew your creator.

Words plus doubt merged and combined,
Creating questions from wonder in your mind.
You followed the paths and added more words,
Created more questions and religion was birthed.

Interpretations varied with the diversity of life,
Creating disagreement, uproar and strife,
As each soul claimed he knew the way home,
Created more words in a mighty tome.

Along with a mascot, icon of sorts,
The tome would dictate permissible thought -
Patterns emerged as each side insisted,
That suffering belonged to those who resisted.

That those whose path was not on tome's map,
Deserved to feel the mighty wrath,
Of true believers as they cursed,
Those who creator once lovingly nursed.

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