The Chase For Worship And Praise

That race chasing,
To be worshipped and praised.
Is an antiquated barbaric game.
That's all about resources.
Done to pillage, confiscate, take, steal,
Usurp.
And...
Quietly or not,
Removed from its original place of birth.

This repetitive childish foolishness.
Is the greatest man-made mistake created.
To believe what was blessed to give to others,
Will not leave thieves left grieving to suffer.
One of the most tremendous spankings,
Felt to feel for decades yet to come.
On the behinds of the ones,
Stunned and horrified out of their minds.
That God swings such a massive strap,
So quick and fast...
With such a sting.
To let it be known this warning,
Is absolutely The Almighty's last.
Well...
God can not be accused,
Of being a procrastinator.

'A what?'

Procrastinator!
With no hugs or kisses to mend or heal,
Wounds meant to stay remembered.

There is only One God.
Choosing to pass such judgements.
And alone.
There's only One.
No calls does anyone hear,
About replacements needed.
Or dates when cattle calls are announced.
Or...
Powerful weapons to prove one's might.
Appearing in G-strings and flowing capes.

There's only One God.
No matter how convincing,
The adorning of costumes can be.
Or a voice as deep as the Atlantic Ocean.
God is God.

Others chasing to be worshipped and praised.
As an image to idolize,
A fiction to delude themselves to represent..
The unseen,
By a human being...
Face of God too?
Says a lot about how far a fiction to live it,
Will take the minds of people to believe...
Self destruction is just as thrilling to achieve,
As being thought a martyr.
Adored and fantasized to death.