Myths Of Crosses Poem by mark anthony st. rose

Myths of crosses
And spoken dreams
Are all that seems,
Like a suit unsuited
But still I'm told I should wear,
As well as I'm told I should fear
The so called Devil dire,
The rapture, the hell fire.
Then I am bombarded like a bomb in Iraq,
And since I was a child I've been set on this track
-to nowhere;
My destiny- elsewhere.
A call that lures me
To discover the truth,
Discard the lies;
Open my mind, my heart, my eyes.
So as to now see the
Myths of crosses,
And the God that bosses,
Is not without, but within,
The illusions of sin.
I then relieve the misbelieve
Of a fallen God or power,
But risen I'm the tower.
I have always been
And will always be
A true immortal upon the shores,
The Divine resonates within my pores,
But here I pause…..
So as not to unsettle the cause
Of the charlatans
Or the so called good Samaritans,
Who in their well-pressed suits
That I'm told I should wear,
And who goes NOT, BUT with their purses,
And lacks nothing,
But the real meaning.
Life escapes these motherfakers,
Scam artist, pretentious posterers
Who constantly defend a lie with a book,
And like a hook snatch the mind of a child,
And squeezes the heaven that is already there out,
And the child screams out " Mama! "

But silence….
As she too has been brainwashed
By the sly suiters with glaring suits
That again I'm told I should wear,
But the more I learn is the more I don't care
About these things illusory, fear;
But I abandon them like a sinking ship,
It doesn't matter the size of the Titanic
That breaks tips of iceberg of truth only for a time,
But truth will get you- Mother fakers, fakers, fakers.





copyright by Mark St. Rose. All rights reserved.