You ask,

If I fear the darkness,

That which consumes the light.

Night simply means,

That the sun will soon rise again.

No, I do not fear the darkness.

You ask,

If I fear death.

It is but the end of the earthly body.

Death of the flesh simply marks the beginning

Of the continuation of the soul.

No, I do not fear death.

Picture this.

Hundreds burned at the stake.

Their flesh falls away from their bones in black, charred, crispy bits.

Hear the bloodthirsty cries of "Witchcraft!".

Women thrown into rivers with hands and legs bound.

The innocent will sink and the guilty rise.

Whatever the case, all are damned.

"Kill them all. God will recognize his own."

What a lovely sentiment!

If the Church was just

And witchcraft did indeed abound,

Then where are all of these witches now?

If the Church was wrong,

Then what makes them anymore "right" today?

Picture history.

Bloody massacres masquerading as holy crusades.

Have you noticed,

That history has a way of rewriting itself.

Edifices are crumbling in the name of God.

Humanity is buried under the rubble.

Bombs are being strapped to children.

The sentiment prevails.

"Kill them all. God will recognize his own."

They trade us lies for their veil of dignity.

We accept their offer.


For deliverance from the bloodthirsty and power-hungry.

The mourners take comfort in the murderer.

Picture this world,

In which we live

And ask me again what I fear.

I fear