I don't recall when, exactly
I know I was young when it happened
Younger, anyway, when I had Grandparents to spare
I asked him to keep Mother and Father together
Either he wasn't listening or didn't care to
Again, I asked him to keep my Bagpuss going
But Bagpuss died and got a grave in the garden
Lessons they both were, others had said
I was angry
Childish things, but I bubbled still
Not mad enough to make me eat the sim card
That would come later, for the boy that buried a brother
And buried his parents then in the space of six months
Then buried a sister ten years later, leaving him and one
Then the one's body turned against her
And, to save her, they had to cut parts of her off
We still have her, Dad and I, but it made me realise
God was out for my blood
I stole away in the dead of night, a hill overlooking town
There I stood, faced the crying sky and roared
"YOU, CREUL BASTARD, WE ARE DONE!"
Renounced my baptism, threw-up my communion
Cast the confiteor against the wall
Never again would I ask for anything
As did Lucifer, I had fallen out with him
Because maybe, maybe he was listening after all?
But help means something else in his black tongue
The chains, the weight, I shrugged them off
Looking, for the first time, with clear head
Clear heart, clear eyes; clarity I'd never felt
Belief removes the burden of reality
Because it's nice, isn't it? To think there's a Heaven?
That no matter what we do in life
We will be welcome there?
It is nice...
But it's a lie
A transplantation of guilt is what it is
A lamb indeed, for our sins a scapegoat
Imaginary, not sacrificial
And while Jesus was on the cross
The Canon was in the back
Ripping the clothes off the boy two houses down
And the Nuns were stealing Mothers and babies
Only to separate them and use the former for slaves
The latter as gravel for the foundations of their houses
You might be inclined to mistrust the words of a poet
And you'd be right to; poets always lie
We weave and whisk, contort and constrict
To veil our truths, to make beautiful our lives
But the previous stanza happened, right here, in Ireland
And with clear head, heart and mind
I was no longer blind to it
That's when I knew; God doesn't listen, how can he?
Frodo doesn't when I'm crying for Samwise Gamgee
So no, thank you, I'm done with all that
Each to their own, that's fine by me
But I'll kneel never more, nor read that book
It was written by man; only flesh, only blood
Myths that put blackened souls in the path of power...
Whatever about the Devil's trick, mans' is worse
Gaslighting ourselves into wanting, needing his mercy
Even the serpent had our best interests at heart
But the priest, dear reader, has only his collar
Go in Peace
AJ Carney 