I never trusted Jesus

Never trusted him as a kid

The long mottled hair man

Risen from the dead

Said to have fed many people

With just fish and bread

When really they just took the initiative

To bring their own food instead

And god was but a farmer

In a brown coat and flattened cap

Covering his eyes

Large rounded nose

A child's book illustration

Painted with gloomy watercolour

A story of his flock

On the grey clouds of the moors

Maturing in the cold world

Where it was easy to become separated

Easy to get lost

I didn't understand

The education

The salt in the glass

Of God's ever presence

In future and past

Did god dissolve into out atmosphere?

People said they could feel him

Omnipresent

I never felt the same

Did it perhaps press against them?

Differing slightly from the norm

But if he was always there

That would be a constant

Only a converted could make the distinction

I could not believe in god

Or the stories

Or the lies

How Moses stepped down

From a mountain?

Carrying two gravestones

Cradling the commandments

That were only to be ignored

I preferred hell over heaven

And death over strange life

I could make what I wanted of myth

As they make of the ancient Gods

Of Greek and Romans

The Lord would never evolve from childhood curiosity

A more fictional, dismal picture book

Welcome to the chilling reality of skepticism

Where condemnation

Comes only through mortal law