Church of Lies

Hollow creeky dark chambers of this selfrightous tomb of the half-living, kneel. Kneel before this blood stained alter of the wicked, receive your cursed blessing at the hand of decadent shrouded preacher, this most sinister of them all, this faithless so-called monk. Let him place his cracking grey palm, stained with all the filthy permitted sins he allowed himself with no consult of the creator on your head.

The cold wind, drenched with all the atrocities of a dark age kingdom, creeps in with the subtlety of a blood drenched dire wolf amongst the lambs, envelops your skin, seeping through the fabric of your clothes with little discretion, with the same inappropriateness as the wicked,  bent old man crushing your sense of purity with the twisted pressure of his claw of a hand upon your brow.

The rising chant of all those deluded pathetic sinners rises to fill the highest bends and the lowest crevances of this temple of lies. The only true blessing is the dimming light of hundreds of dying candles, their twinkling glow distracting you from the stench of deciet dried down into the wooden carvings upon their walls.

Salvation? I call it sin, sin upon sin, doctorines shifted and shaped by the old liars and carried on by the young misguided. How can you teach me of a thing when you don't understand the cause of the thing? Why must you drown me with your speech of that which you do not understand?

Sin upon sin I shall commit, light after light I will extinguish and death after death I shall recieve. What is a sinner to tell me of sin? If this light then blind me, take away this most discrepant, useless of senses, this is not the world I wish to see; And what is death to the dead?

Do you not witness, the truth, unfolding before you, in and out of sight? Is your heart not burdened by these mountains of contradictions? If your words can heal then why are you so sick?

A pagan to your paganism I am, a proud sinner I'll be. A world so dark, govern it you do, save it you don't. I disbelieve your misbelief, this I do so at my own discretion, with no discretion.

Again and again I'll sin, this most beautiful of sins. Sin and sin this most guilt free of acts. I gladly act so in thought, in heart, in spirit, in flesh, in soul. Here is salvation, here is salvation, salvation is here, salvation is here.

No dark shrine for me, no hollowing chants to praise curses upon my soul, no decrepant, depraved sooth sayers to govern that which is not theirs to govern, no more Hell adjacent Purgatory for me.

Light upon true light is what I seek, truth within truth I crave and gifts beyond gifts I shall recieve. Uplifted from the darkness, what more can one ask for? Oh how easy it is to depict the punishment of the wrongs but so difficult it is to imagine the rewards of the right. Indescribable blessing. Warmth. Truth. Goodness.
Receive me with open arms.
Embrace me...
You.
You there.
Stand.
Turn.
Shun these false idols.
Shake off their false ideals.
Run.
Run.
Run.
Run until you're out of breath then run some more.
And how could they contain the Beauty within their words? The Majesty within their walls?
Run.
Run.
Run.
Over there.
Over there.
Over there.
Peace.
Peace.
Peace.

By Ahmed Abdellatif Omer Hassan


- This is the best thing I ever wrote but few can tell the difference. This is my 3 dimensional contribution to our 2 dimensional struggle.