Stephen Loomes (21ST JUNE 1950 / SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA)
The True Religion
Don’t ask me to tell you again
Alright, before we go any further
There’s some stuff that gives me bother
So I’m delivering some words
Into your brain
It will lighten your load
If you think what I tell you is true
And it reduces my burden too
For me to see that it is told
And the ideas travel to the future through you.
Religion. What a cancerous curse
Feeding on the living human body!
The progenitor for religion seems to be;
I am here and alone and what is worse,
I am separate from the people around me,
And a sense of self seems to be
A wet nurse to the religious curse.
Around me and the earth
Upon which I find myself walking
There’s a lot of people all dressed up and talking
I look out into space and I realise
There just is no-one is talking anything of any worth
I look back out through the skies
Even with my primitive ideas of science
What a vast universe that I see through my eyes
And there am I standing quite alone.
In this universe am I the only one home?
When there are a lot of people
History delivers salesmen with all the answers,
But each one of them is so subjective
And inherently false.
So appealing to mordant romancers
The artefact of religion has undergone
Its own evolution as a cancer enmeshed
With mankind’s cultural and historical evolution.
When we were pre-literate as a race
Fast talkers and thinkers made the invention
Of spirits and gods and pushed them in our faces
When children were little and had no defences
Fostered by word of mouth
And enforced as offences
Woven into stories which like mnemonics
Inhabiting memory and transmitted like viruses
Religious stories entered the vaults of belief
With their bullshit answers that provide no relief
To cosmogony and cosmology
Stealing true understanding like a thief
Of these large questions occuring in the human mind.
The movement from pantheism to monotheism
Was the next quantum leap in the mythic paradigm
It matters little whether this occurred as a schism
In India, China, Sumeria, Egypt, Israel or Babylon
It was a chariot of the human mind called writing
Which carried it along.
Now every religion has to have a book,
And in its book they say are words divine
Direct from God who sent it down the line
Through a prophet whose tongue is like a hook.
And whatever holy book, the precepts are the same
What you do now will be rewarded or punished
On judgment day when you die,
The next life will be everything you ever wished
On condition that every day you live, you comply
However it is dressed up, they call it Paradise
But if you refuse to believe to swallow their lie
You’ll be punished forever when you die.
So just submit to the “word of god”
If you want to do well
Believe everything contained in the “holy book”
Hand your mind to the men of God or go to Hell
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (The True Religion by Stephen Loomes )
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