You come to spread your faith in Love,
And Peace and Friendship and God above.
You come to give it to a beast,
That was born when creation ceased.

But there’s no way for you grant,
No way, no means, oh, no, you can’t.
It’s simply not possible, not plausible,
Improbable, deplorable,
The beast shows no interest, it’s bored.
It yawns with teeth of sharpened swords

You can cry out your name
And make believe a single word
The beast of folly can tame,
But you cannot make yourself heard.

You can bang your fists against the ground.
You can shout your name out loud… again,
But it will be in vain
And in the end your true belief
Is torn to pieces by its sharp teeth.

So goes the nature of our kind
Of us few, who depend upon the mind
To get us through, to keep us clear,
To grant us safety when the creature’s near
And at the same time and at least
To soothe the beast.

But faith and mind
And all of their kind
Are not for those who dare stand tall,
No, they’re not for all.
That’s why this poem, this mind’s rhyme,
Will not survive the passing of time,
And shall not even dare to say
What we demand of it to say, nor stay.
No, it will slowly fade away.

And words will be forgotten,
And our souls will speak no more
And soon we will be rotten;
Rotten to the core.
No free will, but free of will
And the whiteness of the purity
Of the innocence of our decorum
Will still bore them and entice to kill,
For the teeth of the beast are whiter still.