A Religious Disturbance

Early one bright and sunny Saturday morning I woke with bad breath on the wrong side of the bed But still enjoying the luxurious ritual of stretching and yawning Wishing I could dive back into those blessed dreams But a well tuned instinct warns of something Creeping toward my door masquerading as Religious Morality (surely intervening for my Soul) And is on its way and nothing in the imagination can stop its coming Before I can even fall out of my oh so comfortable bed I can hear the chatter of muted indecipherable talking While I feel the patter of the self-righteous foot-steps walking After the front door-bell chimes the Song of the Doomed In the sudden, stifling silence, surprisingly no-one hears the hammer of a gun cocking Back on the single shot twenty gauge sawed-off shotgun I keep near my front entrance for the intrusions of unwanted guests that come knocking So obsessed with the need to save un-baptized Souls, they NEVER think to listen For the unwelcoming noise that reveals the signal of remorseless Death stalking The next victim of The Savage Garden Who will soon be underground decomposing and slowly rotting

Children of God brutally slain in a way that the circumstances seem insane It is a crime against all things Godly so in the minds Of even the most cynical, its a dreadful criminal deed utterly shocking Twas a false vision the God sent these misguided Souls In the interminable seconds before they fatally rang my door-bell Because I believe the Gods and Devils of ALL Religions Keep a secret so terrible that They can never allow any to ever tell Ancient Wisdom that has been forgotten in the shifting whirlwinds of Time Secrets from long before the great culture of Mesopotamia fell The distant truth is that They are both one and the same And ONLY in the Earthly Realm can They even dwell Collecting our perplexed Souls with startlingly ease For in this buyers market, every man, woman, and child is eager to sell The most important thing they possess, for without the Soul A person is without moral essence and exists as just a hollowed shell Wasting away in the ridiculousness of a pointless life And this to me is the very definition of what yall might call Hell But as spiritual as my words may sound to a jury of my peers, To whom my story the prosecutors forced me to tell, I know it is all nonsense and the REAL truth is that I am mentally disturbed, psychologically un-well I knew I was in the wrong even as the shot-gun blast Echoed about my head when the first body fell

To the cold floor, laying at rest near the polished shoes of his best friend Bleeding his lifes blood in a way that offered no hope for help s My only defense is that if he had not disturbed my Saturday morning, He would still be alive thus I feel the man killed himself

Andrew N. Farrens

Drew Kazinsky
West Stockton, California
August 21, 2012