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I saw Thine following me, I heard Thee calling me, I even felt Thine arrows in my tears; I know Thou art shadowing me, And wilt yet, forestalling me, Whip out the vanities of all my years.
. . . I ran and still run away from Thee.
[The Fugitive / Ameen Rihani]
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Religion is full of fallacies. Inconsistencies, vacuous promises. Pews emulate the staunchness of barracks amidst wartime, and You travel down the rows to Your preordained doom. Craned neck, hands clasped, You bear yourself raw in front of the crucified effigy of God's Son. Silent pleas filter through an emptied chamber. Kneeled on the splintered altar, Your knees will ache, and they'll scab. In return for Your grief, You shall see nothing more than the sunlit windows portraying stills of promised salvation. Aureola's golden above Christ's head. Beg as You may, an answer will never come.
