His baubles are made from air and imitation
To pass off as gold and immortality.
He brings them as horses to rivers of belief
- The thirst is a mirage that blinds them to water.

Come they say, and drink with us of nectar.
Sit with us, and bow your lowly head, cover
Your temptress' hair with cloth so He may
Not be offended by who you really are.

They sing His paens and tell His fables
Of miracles and petty magic placebos.
See His beatific smile, they say,
And the halo that was crowned by heaven.

I grieve again for my drunk and deceived
Who find the obvious truths of life
Only amidst His Words. I ask that they can see
That halos are made of light and not of darkness.

For he takes their children and their souls
At his pederast altar, and traps their minds
Between the cracks of his splintered image,
Obscuring principles with false charity.

It is then that they see the tablets of ash
That he hides between his fingers and crushes
And smears in grim marks on the young
And the old who came to seek a God.

Beware, I tell them, of Gods.